Roarke's Family
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: The return of Roarke's stepson sets off a long chain of memories. Follows 'My Cousin, My Nemesis'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _"The Wedding" has always been one of my very favorite_ Fantasy Island _episodes._ _Sometimes, when I'm in the right mood, Mr. Roarke's grief over Helena's death can still make me cry! This is a slightly AU "novelization" treatment of this episode and the one that immediately followed it, "The Handyman / Tattoo's Romance" which was first shown on November 10, 1979 (I've concentrated on the second story arc only). Not all the scenes in either episode are included herein, but I've added a few original ones of my own to help flesh out the story a little bit and link the two episodes together. Thanks as ever for the enthusiastic and always-welcome feedback from Harry2 and jtbwriter, and my thanks as well to all other readers and reviewers. I hope you'll enjoy this.  
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_§ § § -- June 2, 1999

On a quiet and very uneventful Wednesday morning, Roarke and Leslie were a little surprised by a knock on the door. Roarke called out, "Come in," and was rewarded by the entrance of a handsome black-haired young man with a lovely woman at his side.

"Hi, Mr. Roarke, we thought we'd surprise you!" he said with a mischievous grin.

Leslie stared and Roarke stood up in astonishment. "Jamie, can that really be you? You look so little like the boy I remember!" he exclaimed.

Jamie Marsh laughed. "I should hope I've changed—I'm almost 31!" He and Roarke clasped hands, shaking vigorously; then Jamie noticed Leslie. "You're kidding! Leslie, you're here for the wedding?"

"I've always been here, silly," Leslie teased, getting up and happily accepting Jamie's hug. "Welcome back! So introduce us to your fiancée already, before she thinks you forgot all about her."

Jamie laughed again. "I've known her for years, but it wasn't till fairly recently that we decided it was time we got married. Meet Pavithra Joshi…and dearest, this is my stepfather, Mr. Roarke, and his ward, Leslie Hamilton."

"His daughter, in fact," Roarke corrected with a smile. "So I think you can introduce Leslie as your stepsister now."

"Well, that's a surprise!" Jamie observed with interest, glancing back and forth between Roarke and Leslie. "Guess I've missed out on everything since I left here, huh?"

"And how! Maybe if you'd kept in touch, we could have had you up to speed all these years," Leslie remarked good-naturedly. "As it is, I think we're in for a long chat session."

"Perhaps over dinner would be best. I'm sure Jamie and Pavithra are tired from their travels and would welcome the chance to relax. I'll have my goddaughter Julie set aside a room for you in her bed-and-breakfast inn; Leslie can take you there, and then you can take the afternoon for yourselves," Roarke suggested.

Leslie added, "Then you can join us for dinner about five-thirty."

Jamie nodded enthusiastically and said, "Sounds great! In that case, let's go."

Jamie and Pavithra did appear for the evening meal and were introduced to Mariki, who nodded with recognition. "I remember you, Master Jamie. Welcome back."

Jamie nodded his thanks, waited till she'd served the meal and then regarded his stepfather and stepsister. "Okay, so spill it. What's been happening on this island? Pavithra and I walked around and I noticed a lot of changes, and I started wondering if we were really on Fantasy Island after all." He grinned.

Roarke and Leslie laughed and took turns summarizing all the relevant events and changes, including the changes in the island itself; Leslie's adoption, marriage, widowhood, return and hiring as Roarke's assistant; Tattoo's passing; and many other things. Jamie listened raptly and expressed his sorrow about Tattoo as well as his sympathies at Leslie's loss of Teppo, and then again when he heard the story of her thwarted romance with Christian. He nodded in impressed surprise at Roarke's rundown of the various buildings and services that had been added, and sat back with a loud "whew!" when they had finished. "Incredible!"

"So much happens here," observed Pavithra in a soft musical accent. "But I've always had a question, and Jamie always had trouble answering it. How, Mr. Roarke, did you come to be Jamie's stepfather? He rarely talks about that time in his life, and if it comes up, he finds a way to quickly change the subject."

Jamie reddened a bit and confessed, "It's hard for me to talk about…but I thought coming here might help. I was hoping you two could help fill in the story and give Pavithra an idea of what Mom was like."

Roarke's reminiscent smile held a touch of sadness. "We'll be happy to, Jamie," he reassured his stepson. "Why don't we make ourselves comfortable in my study, and we'll go on from there."

Fifteen minutes later, seated in a cozy grouping around the tea table that had been there since Lawrence's tenure and fortified with a supply of tea and Leslie's favorite sangria, they began the story for a fascinated Pavithra…

§ § § -- November 3, 1979

Roarke stepped out the front door on a balmy Saturday morning and paused long enough to allow Leslie to accompany him out. They stopped at the end of the porch, where they were met by a disgruntled-looking Tattoo. "Good morning, boss," said the diminutive Frenchman with a faintly annoyed air about him.

"Good morning, Tattoo! Ah, isn't it a glorious day," said Roarke expansively, scanning the sky. Leslie looked up too, but as far as she was concerned, it was no different from any other sunny Saturday on the island.

Tattoo said skeptically, "If you say so." Roarke and Leslie looked at him askance, then stared at Chester the Chimp as he vaulted up the steps toward Tattoo. "Sit," Tattoo ordered curtly. Chester bared his teeth at them all.

"He's a little late for Halloween," Leslie observed with a grin.

"Yes, I'd say so," Roarke agreed. "Tattoo, why on earth is Chester dressed like a convict?" The mischievous chimp was clad in a zebra-striped jumpsuit and hat, and toted what looked like a lightweight plastic ball on a short metal chain.

Tattoo shot Chester one contemptuous look and said, "Because he's a thief. And by dressing him in a thief's outfit, I'm trying to teach him how not to steal."

"But Tattoo, Chester is only a chimpanzee," Roarke protested.

"I know that, boss," said Tattoo, "but you remember last year, when I taught him how to play checkers, and he beat everybody on the island? Right?" Leslie's eyes widened in disbelief: a chimp that could play checkers? Tattoo caught her expression and nodded.

"Right," Roarke confirmed, "and I am fully ready to admit that you are a wonderful teacher—" here Tattoo smirked with appreciation— "and Chester is a very clever animal." Tattoo's smile shifted into a scowl and a faint sneer in the chimp's direction, evoking another grin from Leslie. "But the point is," Roarke went on, "he _is_ an animal, and checkers is a game. The sense of right and wrong is an abstract, Tattoo—a thought process far beyond his capabilities. Consequently, he could never grasp that concept, which means that he could never really be a thief! Don't you see?"

Tattoo and Leslie looked at each other, both slightly confused by Roarke's explanation; then Tattoo protested, "But boss—even when he steals my car every night?"

"Oh, he's merely having fun," said Roarke indulgently.

Tattoo thought about it. "Well, maybe you're right," he mused. "Maybe I shouldn't be so upset that he stole your beautiful ivory chess set last night…"

Leslie's eyes widened with apprehension, and she slid her gaze toward Roarke, whose own attention was rudely jarred back from his contemplation of the weather. Slowly he turned to Tattoo and asked, "He did what?"

"I found a couple of pieces in his room," Tattoo said apologetically, "and I think he ate a couple of them."

Roarke looked outraged. "Why, that dirty little thief!" As if afraid of Roarke's impending wrath, Chester grabbed the ball and chain and loped off the porch, with a couple of guilty glances at Roarke that made Leslie giggle aloud.

"Boss, he's stealing the ball and chain!" Tattoo cried. "Should I go after him?"

But Roarke's gaze had strayed skyward again and he shook his head. "No, later, Tattoo, later. We don't want to be late for the plane…not today." Tattoo peered quizzically at the sky, then at Roarke, then at Leslie, who shrugged. The car came up and they all went down the walk to meet it.

At the plane dock Tattoo remarked, "Boss, I'm sure anxious to know who's coming today."

"Me too," said Leslie. "I've never seen you watch the sky so much!"

Roarke surveyed his assistant and his ward. "Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because all week long, you've been so excited," Tattoo said, with Leslie's emphatic nod backing him up. "There must be somebody very special on that plane." At that exact moment they heard the hatchway door pop open, and their attention was drawn to the seaplane. A black-haired boy a little younger than Leslie stepped out, followed by a slender chestnut-haired woman. Tattoo stood up straight and exclaimed, "Boss, that's Mrs. Marsh and her son Jamie!"

"Indeed it is," murmured Roarke, unexpectedly losing himself in a wave of memory. Leslie stared at him, then turned to Tattoo, bewildered.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Oh...that's right, you weren't with us yet the last time they came here," Tattoo said. "The lady is Helena Marsh, and Jamie's her son. I think he's about eleven now. It's really their third time here. The first time was five years ago when Mrs. Marsh's husband had just died and Jamie was a little boy. She wanted to restart the fashion-designing career she had abandoned when she'd married Jamie's father, and the boss helped her out with that. Then last year she came back looking to find her true love…and it turned out to be the boss. Not only that, he'd been in love with her all that time too."

"Wow," said Leslie, a little overwhelmed.

"And boss," Tattoo said loudly to Roarke, "when she was here the last time, you were supposed to get married—and she had to go back to Calcutta, to her hospital."

Roarke nodded. "She did…"

Tattoo, realizing his mind had wandered again, smiled. "Mr. Marsh was a doctor and ran a huge hospital and school in Calcutta, India. When he died, Mrs. Marsh took Jamie and went back to New York City to start her fashion career. Then a terrible storm did a lot of damage to the buildings, and the directors of the school came to the island to try to get her to come back before the government tore them down. In the end she just couldn't say no, and she and Jamie wound up returning to India."

"Oh," said Leslie. It was a lot for her to absorb. She had been on the island just nine months, and there were still a great many strange and fascinating things here that she had yet to discover. But it had been nice to have Roarke there to ask questions about all these things, and Tattoo to help smooth the way. Now it looked like there'd be a major shakeup, and Leslie didn't think she was prepared for it.

Tattoo looked excited. "Boss, don't tell me! This time her fantasy is to really marry you?" he prompted.

"Indeed it is, my friend," Roarke replied. His eyes had never left Helena Marsh the entire time.

"_Are_ you gonna marry her, Mr. Roarke?" Leslie asked hesitantly.

"That's her fantasy, Leslie," Roarke said softly. She heard what he didn't say: _and it's my fantasy as well._ She compressed her lips and looked away, assessing the woman and the boy, her mind already racing to various conclusions that she kept shying away from.

Both Leslie and Tattoo watched as Roarke crossed the clearing to meet the new arrivals, greeted the boy, then faced Helena Marsh and spoke so softly that neither of them could quite hear his words. But they knew what he was saying, directing his weekly greeting solely to her; then he plucked a glass of something off the nearest tray without even looking at it, touched it to Helena's and took a sip. Tattoo beamed; Leslie only wondered uneasily just how many new changes she would have to face.

Jamie and Helena went off to a bungalow to unpack a little bit and get settled in, and Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie returned to the main house to wait for them. Leslie was silent the whole way back, while Tattoo peppered Roarke with questions that Roarke laughingly answered. It wasn't till they were in the study that Roarke finally noticed Leslie's reticence. "Are you all right, child?" he asked her.

She looked up and smiled faintly. "Sure, I'm fine," she said.

But she hadn't convinced him, and she knew it from the skeptical return smile he aimed at her. "Something's bothering you," he said. "What is it?"

"I think she's a little worried," Tattoo offered. "I had to explain who Jamie and Mrs. Marsh were, at the plane dock. Remember, boss, she never met them before."

Roarke's expression reflected dawning realization, and he reached over and folded Leslie's hands in his. "I apologize, Leslie," he said. "I should have explained it to you myself, but I am afraid I was too distracted by the anticipation of Helena's arrival. I have known Helena for some time, and in fact we fell in love several years ago; but we never made it known to each other until a year ago when she returned. She's a lovely lady, Leslie, and I think you'll like her very much. Jamie is eleven now and a fine young man; you and he might become friends."

"Yeah, maybe we will," Leslie murmured, not quite convinced. Roarke's dark eyes warmed with sympathy and he slipped an arm around her shoulders, snugging her close for a moment. She sighed softly and settled her head on his shoulder; but Tattoo, standing where he could easily see her, read her expression and knew that it was going to take awhile for this group to settle in with one another.

It was then that there came a knock, and the door opened before anyone could call out a response. Jamie came in first, with Helena behind him. "It's still a lovely room," she said by way of greeting. "It's nice to see that things here haven't changed very much." Then she saw Leslie. "Oh…on second thought, perhaps they have!"

"I didn't think to prepare any of you, it seems," Roarke said apologetically, letting Leslie go and crossing the room to meet Helena, taking her hands in his. "Since you and Jamie were here last, I have acquired a ward." He brought Helena forward and gestured at Leslie, who stood beside his desk watching with a trace of apprehension. "Helena, my dear, meet Leslie Hamilton. She is fourteen and has been with us since this past February."

Helena brightened, stepped forward and clasped Leslie's hands in hers. "It's lovely to meet you, Leslie!" she said warmly. "I do hope to have a chance to get to know you better as soon as time will permit it. Have you met my son? This is Jamie, and he's three years younger than you are." She nodded at Jamie, who came up beside his mother and stuck out a hand at the surprised Leslie.

"It's nice to meet you," Jamie offered in friendly fashion.

Leslie smiled tentatively, accepted his hand and shook. "Nice to meet you too," she said. "Um…so, you guys came from India?"

"Yeah," said Jamie. "My dad was a doctor there. I don't remember him too well—I was barely six when he died, and that was kind of a long time ago. You live here?"

"Yeah, Mr. Roarke's my guardian," said Leslie, nodding shyly.

"Hey, kids, why don't you come with me," Tattoo suggested then. "There's a few things I need to do, and I can always use your help."

"Sure," said Leslie, finally on surer ground. She turned to Jamie. "I kind of help out around here a little bit. Come on, maybe we can show you around some." Jamie nodded in interest, and the children followed Tattoo out the door.

"She helps out?" Helena repeated when they were gone. "Darling, you've been falling off the job here. You didn't tell her about us, nor us about her…and I can't say that I blame her for feeling awkward. I could see it all over her face." Roarke smiled, looking rather sheepish, which made her laugh. "How exactly did she come to be your ward, and what does she do to help out? Tell me about her; she seems like a sweet young lady."

"She's been a welcome addition to the household," Roarke said, ushering her into a club chair and taking the one beside it. "Leslie is an orphan; her parents and younger sisters were killed in a house fire a little more than a year ago. She became a ward of the state until the legal system eventually got around to unearthing her mother's will and reading it. The will stated that Leslie was to be sent here, as she has no living relatives anywhere."

"How odd," Helena said, puzzled. "One would think her parents would have left her with close friends or some such."

"Leslie hasn't provided much detail about her life before she was orphaned, but it was my inference that her parents didn't have close friends," Roarke said thoughtfully. "If they did, they would have left them behind in Leslie's native Connecticut. When she was eight years old, the Hamiltons moved to California, which is where they were killed…but there is more to the story than that." He went on to explain about the curse and Shannon Hamilton's 1965 visit to the island that had resulted in her learning about Leslie's future and her insistence that Roarke raise Leslie after the girl was orphaned.

"What a sad story—and what an incredibly generous thing for you to do," Helena said, beaming at him. "That's just what I would expect of the man I love so much."

"You flatter me, my love," Roarke said, chuckling. "At any rate, Leslie has a few lingering emotional issues that she isn't yet ready to confront. For now it's enough that her life has regained some stability. She has friends here and she's a good student, and she's very eager to help out with my business."

"I see." Helena considered it. "So she may see all this as a large upset to her world, then. You know, I have to confess, I've always wished Jamie could have had a sister. I do hope Leslie will let me in just a little." She smiled. "But there's time for that yet, isn't there? What's on the agenda for the day?"

"For one thing, we are the guests of honor at a party Tattoo insisted on throwing for us," Roarke said. "And I believe we are due there in about half an hour; so shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- November 3, 1979

Later that afternoon after the welcoming party, seeking some downtime together, Roarke and Helena left the children with Tattoo and took a horseback ride to a remote coastal section of the island, some distance west of the Enclave and impossible to reach except by one unmarked and well-hidden trail. They emerged at last into a lovely little alcove at the edge of the island, with views of the ancient volcanic crags that had shaped Fantasy Island eons before, crowded with lush vegetation and liberally shaded by tall palms. They dismounted from the horses, dropped the reins and wandered into an intimate cleared area screened by bushes and trees, from where they could stand and watch the ocean rolling into the sand. The wind was steady but very pleasant, drawing in a refreshing salt tang from the sea and cooling the sun-dappled ground and air. Helena stared around her in fascination while Roarke watched her. "It's magnificent!" she breathed at last. "What is it called—besides paradise?"

"Bella Glen," Roarke said. "Except for me, you are the first person to have visited it. It is, I think, the most special place on Fantasy Island…peaceful, lovely." Helena nodded wholehearted agreement. "It was my private world, where I could be alone if I chose. Now…now, it can be _our_ private world." He shifted his attention back to her and smiled. "I thought perhaps we could build a home here, if you like." Helena beamed at him; he smiled back, very glad to see that the idea appealed to her. Then something else occurred to him. "Oh! I have something else to show you." He reached into a pocket and extracted a large ring, set with a rectangular ruby surrounded by gold filigree.

"Oh," Helena gasped. "It's exquisite!"

Smilingly Roarke informed her, "It was first given to Cleopatra, in the golden hall of the gods, by Caesar himself. On a day very much like this—one filled with great celebration—two thousand noblemen attended the royal party."

Helena eyed him with amused suspicion. "You make it sound as if you were there."

"Do I?" They both grinned; Helena let it go, not really expecting her fiancé to be so forthcoming, even to her. Sometimes mystery was a good thing! "Well, in any case, it will be your engagement ring, if you like."

"Of course!" she exclaimed, beaming as he slipped it onto her finger. "I love it!"

Roarke lifted her newly-adorned hand and kissed it. Helena watched him, feeling a sense of wonder and great good luck at being the object of this man's desire—and that brought on sudden doubt. "Are you sure that you want to marry me?" she blurted, making him look up and stare at her incredulously. "I mean, is it wise?"

"Wise!" Roarke echoed, astonished.

"Well, now with—" she began worriedly.

"Now more than ever," Roarke cut her off, shaking his head firmly. "I am a man who lives to grant fantasies for people. Well, it's time we lived ours, my love." And with that, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

For a long time they held each other, simply savoring the ability to touch and to cling, without fear of anyone pulling them apart before they were ready. In time they did release each other, standing together in a companionable silence and gazing dreamily out over the ocean. Then Roarke was slightly startled by Helena's voice. "Darling?"

"Are you all right?" he asked, on the alert.

"Oh, of course, I'm fine," she assured him. "I was just thinking. Once you and I are married, we're going to be a family, whether Jamie stays with us or decides to go on to Trinity School. I think it would be a good idea for you to get to know Jamie better and for me to get acquainted with Leslie."

"I agree," Roarke said, eyes alight with a sudden teasing mood. "I fall more in love with you all the time: you've turned out to be wise as well as beautiful."

"Ah, you wonderful rogue," Helena said, laughing. "Why don't we go on back."

When Roarke pulled around the bend of the Main House Lane, he and Helena immediately spotted Jamie and Leslie on the porch near the door, leaning over the railing and yelling enthusiastically. They looked at each other in bemusement; then Roarke parked the car and got out, with Helena hurrying around the car and ahead of him. "Children, children!" she exclaimed. "What's all the shouting about?"

"Mom, you should've seen it! That chimpanzee we saw at your party was sitting at one of those tables with some of the champagne he stole, and it looked like he was actually drinking it!" Jamie said breathlessly.

"What?" Roarke said, staring at Leslie.

She nodded, grinning. "It's true, Mr. Roarke. Jamie and I were in the house with Tattoo and we both happened to see him out the window. It looked for all the world like he was wining and dining his girlfriend—you know, that little female chimp that lives at the orphanage where Cindy works. We told Tattoo, and he really went through the roof. He started yelling before we even got out the door."

"Yeah, that gave Chester tons of warning, so he had time to grab the other chimp's hand and make a clean break for it," Jamie put in.

"But why all the shouting?" Roarke asked.

"Oh, Tattoo got his car so he could chase them and have some hope of catching up with them," said Leslie. "We were just cheering him on."

Roarke and Helena both began to laugh. "Oh, you two!" Helena said, ruffling her son's hair fondly. "Listen, I had a thought. Jamie, suppose you and Mr. Roarke hold down the fort, or something…I was thinking of taking a little shopping trip into town, and I thought Leslie might like to come along, perhaps to give a little advice."

Leslie's face went slack with astonishment, and Roarke grinned. "Did you have some prior engagement, Leslie?" he asked teasingly.

"I…no, I mean…" Leslie stuttered, flustered. Helena took pity on her and smiled.

"That's all right…if you'd rather do something else…" she began.

"No! Honest, I wouldn't mind going. You just really surprised me," Leslie said. "Can we go now?"

"That was the idea," Helena said cheerfully. "Darling, you don't mind if we use the car, do you?"

"Not at all, go right ahead," said Roarke. "We have a young guest in the hospital, and I thought perhaps Jamie and I could pay him a visit. We can walk from here."

Helena led the way to the car and waited till Leslie had slid into the passenger side, then started the engine and headed up the lane. After a moment Leslie cleared her throat. "Mrs. Marsh, could I ask you something?"

"One thing—first of all, since your guardian and I are going to be married tomorrow, I think it's rather too formal of you to be calling me 'Mrs. Marsh'. Please, Leslie, just call me Helena, all right?" She smiled at Leslie's shy nod. "Now, what was the question?"

"I was just wondering," Leslie said. "You used to be a fashion designer, didn't you? Of all the people in the world, you'd be the last one to need advice…especially from me!"

Helena burst out laughing. "You saw right through me, didn't you? Next time I'll know better! But to be completely honest, I just wanted the chance to spend time getting to know you—just the two of us girls. What do you think?"

Leslie grinned, still bashful but willing. "It sounds like fun."

"That's good—I hoped it would. Tell me, which way do I go?" Helena asked, and Leslie directed her into Amberville, where they parked and got out, at first wandering along the storefronts window-shopping. Eventually Helena said, "Later on I'll have to introduce you to my parents. They've hardly had time to spend with Jamie, let alone anyone else, but I think they would like you very much."

"Your mom and dad are still alive?" Leslie asked, then clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed for having asked such a ridiculous question.

"Yes, they are…and I really think they would enjoy having a granddaughter in the family," Helena said. Her voice was bright, but she was choosing her words carefully. "Do you suppose you'd like to meet them?"

Leslie thought it over, cast a furtive glance at the hopeful Helena and turned red when she realized Helena was watching her. "It seems like so much all at once. You and Jamie, and your mother and father…"

"I won't ask you to call them your grandparents," Helena said gently, "any more than I'd ever ask you to call me Mom if you don't feel comfortable with it. Mr. Roarke told me how you came to be here, and from the way he described your mother's fantasy, I suspect you and your mother were very close, weren't you?"

Leslie nodded pensively. "I miss Mom like you wouldn't believe," she murmured, her eyes losing focus. "I love it here, and this is a super place to be. I just wish sometimes that it were possible for Mom to be here with me." She looked up at Helena with a film of tears distorting her vision. "Did Mr. Roarke tell you how my mother died, Helena? Her husband killed her. I don't even call him my dad anymore—I don't like the idea that I could be his kid, you know? And the worst part is, I saw him do it. He killed Mom and my twin sisters without even thinking about it." She stopped short on the boardwalk, squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands.

Helena drew her close and patted her shoulder. "Don't be afraid to cry, Leslie," she said softly. "When Jamie's father died, I cried for weeks. I know that crying doesn't change anything, but sometimes it's the best outlet for your emotions." She held Leslie close for a moment, feeling the girl's torso bucking slightly with the sobs she was trying to hold back, and understood then: Leslie didn't want to cry here in public. "Mr. Roarke explained it all to me. I can't imagine the kind of pain you've endured. But don't forget, Leslie, if you ever need to talk to someone, don't hesitate to come to me, all right?"

Leslie peered at her with reddened eyes. "But you hardly know me. I'm not even really part of the family—all I am is Mr. Roarke's ward."

"Not as far as I'm concerned," Helena told her firmly. "I've had a wish from the time Jamie was just a toddler that he could have had a sister. And now, here you are. I love my son, and I'm grateful every day that I have him. But I always secretly wanted a daughter as well. I hope you won't mind if I think of you that way."

"I think I'd kinda like that," Leslie admitted bashfully, in a very small voice.

"I'm glad," Helena said and squeezed her. "Well, come on, let's not dwell on unhappy things. You and I have a little shopping to do: we have to get you a dress."

"For what?" Leslie asked blankly.

"For the wedding, of course!" Helena exclaimed, then frowned. "Oh dear, don't tell me I never mentioned it! How awful of me!"

"What?" Leslie persisted, consumed with curiosity.

Helena grinned ruefully. "How clumsy of me, Leslie. Well, let me mention it now. Would you like to be one of my bridesmaids? I need one more, and I had meant to ask you since I met you this morning, but it just kept slipping my mind. Will you?"

Leslie lit up with wonder and delight. "Are you serious? You really mean it? I'd love to be a bridesmaid! That'd be so cool!"

"That's wonderful! Well, then, hurry, we have no time to waste!" Helena grinned; Leslie grinned back, and as if carrying out some huge conspiracy, they made a beeline for the nearest bridal shop.

‡ ‡ ‡

That night a massive luau replaced the regular Saturday-night festivities; because of the occasion, Leslie and Jamie were allowed to stay up later than usual. Leslie was soon socializing with her friends, and introduced them to Jamie; in the end Jamie hit it off with Myeko's twin brothers, Taro and Tomi, and Lauren's brother Adrian.

"Who's that kid, anyway?" Camille wanted to know. "I mean, he can't be related to you or anything. You said you don't have any living relatives."

Leslie stared at them. "You can't be serious, Camille! You mean you guys haven't heard yet? I thought it was all over the island by now."

"I guess it's not, or else we'd know what you're talking about," Myeko said.

Leslie grinned. "You won't believe this. Mr. Roarke's getting married tomorrow! Her name's Helena and she's incredibly nice. She even asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. And Jamie's her son."

Michiko gasped. "We didn't even know Mr. Roarke was in love with anyone…and here he's getting married? It wasn't even in the newspaper!"

"That's fabulous!" Lauren exclaimed. "I guess that means you'll have sort of a stepmother and stepbrother, then, won't you? I tell you what, Jamie seems a lot better-behaved than Adrian." The girls laughed.

"I'm not really sure if I can call Jamie and Helena my stepfamily," Leslie said a bit doubtfully. "I'm only Mr. Roarke's ward, so I'm not really part of the family in the first place. But Helena said she didn't care about that—she'd still think of me as a stepdaughter."

"That's sweet of her," Michiko said. "Gosh, it's just so hard to believe. I mean, everybody always thinks of Mr. Roarke as a bachelor, you know? Although I suppose there aren't too many bachelors who'd take in a kid to raise." Leslie nodded.

"What about that old TV show 'Family Affair'?" countered Lauren. "Uncle Bill was a bachelor in that show, remember? And he was raising three kids, not just one."

"But that was just a TV show," Michiko said. "How many single guys can you think of who'd be willing to take in a kid like that? Mr. Roarke's one of a kind."

"I think it's incredibly cool he's getting married," Myeko spoke up. "I guess Jamie'll start at the junior high school soon."

"I don't know about that," Leslie said. "Helena told me over lunch that he might be going away to school. His dad was a doctor, and he wants to be one too—he's thinking about going to the school where his dad and grandfather went. So he might not even be staying here after the wedding."

"He's what, eleven?" Camille asked. "That sure is young to start studying to be a doctor. I mean, Tommy's sixteen and he's still trying to decide if he wants to be a race-car driver or a baseball player. And those aren't real careers." She rolled her eyes while her friends laughed again.

At that point a hush fell over the gathering, and a native family band struck up a slow, faintly plaintive love ballad in Hawaiian. It was dark out by now, and the only light came from the many torches burning around the perimeter of the luau clearing. Tattoo, along with Helena's parents, strolled past them; Tattoo nodded at the girls and signaled at Leslie to come with them. "Call us," Myeko said quickly as they all rose; the other girls were about to leave with their families.

"Tomorrow, I promise," Leslie agreed and got up. "See you guys later." She moved off with the adults; a minute later Jamie joined them, having seen then passing by. They stood waiting quietly near the slightly-raised platform that had been set up for dancing; and a few minutes later, Roarke and Helena arrived to a smattering of applause.

"Thank you," Roarke said to a couple who called out a compliment, and he and Helena approached their group and exchanged greetings.

Helena glanced around and asked furtively, "Could we sit down?" They were the center of attention, and it was clearly beginning to get to her.

"As a matter of fact," Roarke said, "they are playing the love song for us, and tradition says we should dance to it."

"Oh, really? How lovely!" Helena exclaimed.

"Yes…well, more precisely, _you_ are supposed to dance for _me,"_ Roarke clarified.

Helena demurred. "I'm not sure I can pull that off."

"Well, in the old days, if I were pleased with your dancing, I would send your father a few goats; a chicken or two, maybe; perhaps a round of cheese, to seal the bargain…" Jamie and Leslie grinned at each other.

"A bottle of gin," interjected John Cummings then, evoking laughter.

"…a bottle of gin, of course, if necessary," Roarke agreed to more laughter, "and you would then be mine, you see?"

John chuckled. "Come along, darling, children…I think the old folks'll sit over here." Tattoo smiled and moved off in another direction to supervise the general party, though he expected things to be quiet. The Cummingses led Leslie and Jamie off to the sidelines, where they settled down and noticed the children beginning to yawn.

"Sleepy, you two?" Cecelia inquired teasingly.

"Yeah, kind of, I guess," Jamie admitted. "What time is it?"

His grandfather checked his watch. "Close to midnight. You really should be in bed, Jamie, and I'm sure Mr. Roarke would say the same for you, Leslie."

Leslie nodded. "I don't mind. We were up early this morning. Let's go back, Jamie. I know the way back, so you can just follow me." Jamie nodded and left with her, tagging a couple of paces behind.

Meantime, Helena eyed Roarke with a meaningful look and said firmly, "My love, we dance together, or we don't dance at all."

"Precisely what I had in mind," said Roarke, and with that he led her to the raised platform where they began to sway together slowly, with the music drifting around them. The Cummingses took in the scene, their daughter's adoring gaze at Roarke, his loving and concerned regard of her, the way they seemed to be wrapped in their love to the point that the rest of the world disappeared from their awareness. "Oh, darling," murmured Cecelia, "she's so beautiful…" Tears filled her eyes, despair washed across her and she choked out, "She's too young!"

"But we should be grateful," her husband said in an attempt to console, patting her hand and making her turn to him. "Grateful that she'll be so happy for the time that's left." Their sorrowful words caught the attention of Tattoo, who stood perhaps five or six yards away from them where he was incidentally able to hear them. It was their tones that first attracted his notice, and he tuned in out of curiosity.

"But why?" moaned Cecelia. "Why should she have to die…" Unable to finish the thought, she broke down into silent weeping.

Aghast, Tattoo frowned, then stared at his boss and Helena. How could it be? What was going to happen when Roarke lost the greatest love of his life? All he knew was that he needed to say something—the sooner, the better.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- November 3, 1979

A couple of hours later Roarke ventured into the foyer and found Tattoo standing in front of the desk, staring at a telltale yellow piece of paper he held. "Tattoo, you're still up?" he asked in surprise.

Startled, Tattoo whipped the page behind his back and cranked around to face Roarke. "Yes, boss. Uh…Leslie's gone to sleep already—I checked on her—so no worries about her."

"Good," said Roarke. "What was that telegram?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, boss," Tattoo said quickly.

"Well, it must be something," Roarke said, amused. "People don't just send telegrams to say nothing."

Tattoo shrugged and admitted, "Well, it just says that the present I wanted for you and Helena will be here on time." He held out the sheet to his boss.

Bemused, Roarke accepted it, read it and reacted with great surprise. "Tattoo! You are bringing Don Ho all the way from Hawaii to sing at our wedding?"

Tattoo nodded, gloom settling over him, and looked away. "Well, I wanted to do something nice."

"Nice! Why, this is wonderful—!" Roarke's words trailed off when he noticed Tattoo hanging his head in dejection. "Tattoo," he asked at last, "what's wrong?"

"Boss, I've gotta talk to you," Tattoo said with grave urgency.

Roarke said, "Of course," watching his assistant with a mystified look.

"Will you sit down, please?" Tattoo requested, almost formally. Roarke took the nearest club chair; Tattoo moved around to the other side of it, trying to think of the best way to begin, while Roarke watched him. Finally he asked inanely, "You are very happy, aren't you?"

Roarke smiled and nodded. "Yes…I've never been happier in my whole life."

Tattoo's head dropped again. "I don't know how to tell you this, boss. I don't know what to say. You're gonna marry Helena, and she's…she's going to…" Roarke frowned in concern, watching Tattoo shy away from the declaration and at last chicken out. "I can't say it," he mumbled finally. "I can't tell you."

So Roarke said it for him. "She's going to die."

Startled again, Tattoo looked up. "You know?"

Roarke nodded slightly and broke his gaze. "I knew before she came to the island, Tattoo," he admitted softly.

"Oh, boss," Tattoo murmured, stunned. How cruel could fate be?

Roarke met his assistant's gaze once more. "Oh, my friend, I will need your comfort when the time comes; but for now, please…I must ask you to be very careful. You see, Jamie hasn't been told yet."

"He doesn't know?" Tattoo said.

"No…Helena was waiting for the proper moment, you see," Roarke said quietly.

Tattoo could only say helplessly, "I'll be careful, boss. I'll be careful."

"I know you will," Roarke replied with warm confidence that almost instantly gave way to uncertainty as a new thought occurred to him. "I'll tell Leslie myself…perhaps in the morning…but no, she is so looking forward to being a bridesmaid…" His voice petered out and he cast an uneasy glance at the ceiling overhead.

"Is this why you're gonna marry her, because she's gonna die?" Tattoo asked.

Roarke smiled a little and closed his eyes for just a moment. "I am marrying her only because I love her, Tattoo…more deeply than anything else in this world."

"It's terrible," Tattoo protested with sad indignation. "It's just…just terrible." He stared plaintively up at his boss. "You can give everybody their fantasy. Why can't you do something?"

He could see from Roarke's Herculean effort to control his expression that he'd hit a very sore nerve. Roarke's eyes glinted with sorrow and he settled defeatedly back in his chair, casting about for a reply. "I would give everything I own, everything I am," he said at last, "if just this once, the gift of life were among my powers." He stared at the ceiling and tried again to rein in the swelling emotion, but there was the slight telltale sheen of tears filming his dark eyes. Tattoo compressed his lips and bowed his head again.

Finally Roarke composed himself enough to speak again. "She has a brain tumor, Tattoo—inoperable," he said flatly. Tattoo waited, and Roarke nodded absently, his eyes slipping out of focus and his voice weakening just perceptibly. "They say…" He had to clear his throat slightly. "They say she will not suffer. In a few days or weeks, she will just gently go to sleep…" Sorrowfully Tattoo shook his head, and Roarke regarded him, absorbing the pain his friend felt on his behalf. He sat up and entreated, "Oh, Tattoo…Helena and I have so little time. Please help us spend it in the most joyful way possible, will you?"

"I'll try," Tattoo managed. What else could he say? "I'll—I'll try."

"I know you will. I know you will." Once more Roarke's eyes grew shiny, yet a smile broke through even now, despite the slight trembling of his voice. "Tomorrow will be a wonderful day…my wedding day." Tattoo reached out and laid a comforting hand on his arm, and Roarke patted it with gratitude.

"I suppose I should try to get a little sleep," Tattoo said after a few emotional minutes, stepping back a pace or two. "I know it's late and I guess we're gonna have to be up early in the morning. You sure you're gonna be all right, boss?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," Roarke said. "Try not to worry, my friend. I deeply appreciate your being here for me. Good night."

"Good night," Tattoo responded and slowly let himself out. Roarke gave a great sigh, as if to fortify himself, then got up and flipped the switch at the foot of the stairs that lit the upper hallway before darkening the study and climbing the steps.

Just for a moment he paused in Leslie's doorway. She lay half on her stomach, half on her side, facing the door, one hand loosely clutching the corner of her pillow, her face blank in repose. What would she do when he told her? With one more quiet, sad sigh, he turned and went to his own room, putting out the hallway light and closing the door, trying to drown his thoughts in mundane bedtime rituals.

§ § § -- November 4, 1979

Tattoo simply couldn't run anymore: that blasted chimp was just too fast. "Chester," he shouted hoarsely after the fleeing simian, "you stupid monkey! I'll get you for breaking into my house! Come back!" He stood in the clearing and glared after Chester in frustration. A moment later, Leslie and Jamie—both dressed for the wedding and coming from two different directions—jogged across the lawn and caught up with him. "Hi, Tattoo," said Leslie cheerfully.

"Hi," Tattoo snapped back, his mind still on Chester.

Leslie and Jamie looked at each other in startled surprise; then Jamie inclined his head fractionally at Tattoo and Leslie grinned, nodding. "Boy," said Jamie, sounding mightily impressed, "you look sensational!"

Instantly the sun broke out on Tattoo's round features. "You like it?" he asked, preening. "Matches the boss' suit, doesn't it?" The children both nodded; then they spied Roarke approaching.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Roarke," Jamie said, with Leslie echoing him.

"Hello, Jamie, Leslie! Well, Tattoo, all set?" inquired Roarke, taking in Jamie's dark suit and Leslie's pale-pink satin dress. They grinned at him, indicating high approval of his elegant white tie and tails.

"All set, boss!" Tattoo said, beaming.

"You have the ring and everything?"

"Everything," Tattoo assured him.

"Good, good," Roarke said.

"Here it is…" And Tattoo began digging through one pocket after another while the others looked on with slowly increasing concern.

"Something wrong, Tattoo?" Roarke asked eventually.

"Oh, no," Tattoo scoffed, chuckling with little conviction. "What could be wrong, boss?" His smile dissolved into a worried look and he poked into another pocket.

"Nothing, of course," Roarke said. Glancing at the children, who were watching both him and Tattoo with interest, he went on, "Isn't it amusing how it is almost tradition for the best man to mislay the wedding ring?"

Jamie nodded, and Leslie remarked dryly, "Hilarious."

Tattoo chortled quickly, trying not to look panicky. "Very amusing, yes," he agreed.

"Yes…it can delay the ceremony. Frankly, I don't know what our guests would do if it should happen today; it might be difficult controlling them. In fact," Roarke concluded with pointed emphasis, "a howling lynch mob springs to mind."

"Boss, you wouldn't let them do that to me, would you?" Tattoo exclaimed, halting his search altogether.

"Let them!" retorted Roarke. "My friend, I'd be _leading_ them!"

Tattoo's lower jaw dropped a good foot or more, his face slack with horror. Leslie and Jamie, trying with limited success to stifle their grins, watched as Roarke, still wearing an exaggerated glare, reached down and plucked a small circular object out of the one pocket Tattoo hadn't yet searched.

"Oh-ho-ho, the ring!" he said, his enormous relief making him expansive. A little sheepishly he eyed Roarke. "Oh, boss, I thought Chester stole it!"

Roarke and the children began to laugh, and Tattoo joined in, a little shaky but very glad to have located the most important object of the day. "We'd better hurry," Roarke advised and led the other three off to a waiting car.

And so the wedding took place, in a colorfully floral riverside grove, with a flower-bedecked arbor as makeshift altar, many guests, and Don Ho's crooning. Roarke waited at the arbor with Jamie and Tattoo, while the bridal procession ambled gently along in their direction. As one of the bridesmaids, Leslie was in the lead, looking huge-eyed with overflowing excitement at being part of the procession. Three other bridesmaids came behind her, trailed by a little flower girl, and then Helena on her father's arm. As they neared the party waiting at the altar, Leslie's happy, excited grin caught Roarke's eye and he winked at her, grinning briefly. But his eyes were really for Helena, and she didn't mind that her guardian's attention swiftly shifted to his bride. As John Cummings relinquished his daughter to her bridegroom, Leslie knelt and gathered Helena's long train behind her before stepping aside, taking charge of Helena's bridal bouquet. She then watched, enraptured, as the vows were spoken, Tattoo handed over the ring, and Roarke placed it on Helena's finger. And at last, the minister spoke the magic words: "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife."

Roarke lifted back Helena's veil and kissed her, sending up a cheer and a flurry of applause. Helena grinned, then turned to Leslie, who handed her the bouquet and made a point of stepping back—a move that got her an amused grin from Roarke. They all watched as Helena gave the flowers a mighty toss, and a woman Leslie didn't know, wearing a long brown dress, caught them, squealing in triumphant glee. At long last, the bridal couple were dispatched on their honeymoon cruise to a remote part of the island, with many cries of farewell and showers of white rose petals tossed after them. Everyone watched as the huge outrigger barge glided smoothly downriver, propelled by several muscular young native men, soon rounding a bend and slipping out of view.

"Well, that's it," said Tattoo. "I think it's time for us to go enjoy the reception and have fun. Come on, you two. Mr. and Mrs. Cummings?"

Jamie's grandparents fell in beside them as the boy asked eagerly, "Will there be a lot of food there?"

The adults laughed. "Wedding receptions are famous for plenty of food," Cecelia assured him, running a hand over his hair. "I don't think anyone will be going hungry here. Oh, Tattoo, I meant to ask you. What did Mr. Roarke and Helena arrange as far as accommodations for the children?"

"She said Jamie can stay in your bungalow with you till they get back," Tattoo told her. "Leslie has her own room in the main house, and I'll be staying in a spare room there while the boss and Mrs. Marsh are gone."

"I think you dare call her 'Mrs. Roarke' now," John said, grinning.

"Wow, that's right…she really is Mrs. Roarke," Leslie realized. "How does it feel to you, Jamie? It's kind of funny, but exciting at the same time."

"Yeah, I think so too," agreed Jamie. "So what're they having at the reception?"

More laughter rose, and the adults abandoned more serious conversation for the topic of the menu. Throughout the party, though, Tattoo could sometimes see the shadows of knowledge and dread in the Cummingses' eyes, and wondered if Roarke had gotten around to telling Leslie, or put it off in deference to the happy occasion as he'd thought to do. He gave a soft sigh. Roarke and Helena planned to return Monday evening, and till then he and Helena's parents would just have to continue to keep the awful secret.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Who are you?" Helena asked softly, quite out of the blue. It was Sunday evening, and they lay on the beach just below a crag atop which stood a beautiful white wood-and-glass A-frame house. It belonged to Roarke, but he sometimes rented it out to honeymoon couples, usually celebrities or those from wealthy and/or well-known families. This weekend it was his and Helena's retreat.

Roarke looked up at her question and regarded her with a certain gleam in his eye, then replied facetiously, "I am Mr. Roarke, your host…"

Helena broke into laughter. "I know that! But who are you?"

"Oh, I am an innkeeper," he said.

"I know that too," Helena said and leaned forward a little. "Who are you?"

Roarke gazed at her, growing serious. "I am the man who loves you most deeply. I am what was, what is…I am Fantasy Island…" He smiled ever so slightly. "I am your husband." And it was enough for Helena, who gladly surrendered to his kiss.

They spent a long, glorious night together, sometimes lying on the deck in the cool nocturnal breeze admiring the stars, sometimes loving each other in a room whose beautiful glass French doors stood open to the sea. In the morning they had a leisurely breakfast, ran down to the beach where they waded through the shallow waves that broke on the sand, collected shells, and explored the surrounding area a bit.

At lunch they ate on the deck, where Helena fed Roarke grapes while he reclined on a lounge chair. After awhile he remarked, "You're spoiling me rotten, you know?"

She laughed and teased, "And you are loving it!"

He grinned back appreciatively. "Yes, I am…yes, I am."

She gave him another grape. "I'm being spoiled too," she admitted, taking in the sky and the sea, the house, all the plant life that provided a colorful natural privacy screen. "These have been the happiest days of my life." She turned to reach for a grape for herself, then caught the edge of the table and steadied herself, wincing a little. Roarke sat up and studied her, his senses on the alert.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Helena assured him, straightening back up and sighing deeply. Regretfully she surveyed their surroundings once more and said, "But we must get back. There are conversations to be had…Jamie to be told. You understand."

Roarke nodded, as reluctant as Helena to leave, but aware that they couldn't put off the outside world forever. "Yes," he said, "Leslie should be told as well. For that matter, I should have done it earlier, but I put it off."

Helena smiled and said, "It's all right. Can you put in a call to…" She never finished the sentence: she swayed on the deck and began to fall, and Roarke leaped out of the chair and caught her before she collapsed. "I feel so dizzy…"

"Come inside," Roarke said hastily. "I'll handle everything." He settled her into a chair inside the house, then made an urgent telephone call.

Meanwhile, in a clearing some distance from the main house, Leslie, Jamie and Tattoo crouched behind a bamboo screen, squinting through the cracks between the stalks. Tattoo held one end of a long thin rope, the other end of which was tied around a bunch of bananas. They'd already been there for at least twenty minutes and hadn't seen anything; Jamie was getting hungry, and Leslie's calves were cramping from her kneeling stance. "Are you sure this is gonna work?" Jamie asked. Leslie snorted and shook her head in response.

"Don't worry, we have to be patient," Tattoo counseled. "Come on, Leslie, don't you have any faith?"

She eyed him. "Do you want the truth, or should I sugarcoat it?" Jamie snickered, and Tattoo rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I'll explain it one more time," he said with strained patience. "There's two things Chester cannot resist, and one of them is bananas." He returned his attention to the dusty lane outside their hiding place. "You know, I'm not just Mr. Roarke's assistant; I'm an expert at many things." Jamie looked at Leslie, who made an _oh, brother_ face and shook her head; he grinned widely. Fortunately Tattoo was unaware of all this. "I took a mail-order course on how to be a detective, and I can say one thing: this trap is almost foolproof."

"Yeah," said Leslie. _"Almost_ is the operative word here." Jamie snickered again.

Tattoo shot her a dirty look. "Leslie Susan Hamilton, cut it out, now!" She only grinned at him unrepentantly.

Jamie had noticed a movement outside the screen and was peering openly over the top of it now. "Tattoo…"

"Yes?" the name's owner inquired.

"You said there were two things Chester couldn't resist, and one of them was bananas," Jamie said questioningly. Tattoo turned to look at him curiously, while Leslie rose slightly from a kneel into a crouch to get a better look at whatever Jamie had seen. Her face broke into a wide grin.

"Right," Tattoo said to Jamie.

"Could it be the other one is your car?" Jamie asked.

Tattoo eyed him, impressed. "How did you guess that?"

Leslie pointed over the top of the bamboo screen and announced, "That's how!" Before either Tattoo or Jamie could react to her words, a car engine sputtered to life. Tattoo leaped to his feet, dropping the rope and sprinting out into the open while his car, with Chester at the wheel and his girlfriend by his side, roared off across the nearby palm grove.

"_Chester!_ Get back here, you thief! I'm going to _really_ get you for this one!" he hollered futilely after them, waving his fist. Leslie and Jamie caught up with him just as a new sound made itself heard: the unmistakable chop of an approaching helicopter. Leslie stared up, instantly alarmed, and Tattoo completely forgot about Chester and the stolen car.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked, reading their expressions.

"Mr. Roarke uses the helicopter only for emergencies," Tattoo explained hurriedly, turning before he'd quite finished the sentence and following Leslie's half-run towards an open space where the helicopter was lowering itself to the ground. A car was already bumping over the grass to meet the new arrivals, and John Cummings had appeared from another direction, alerted by the noise of the aircraft. Tattoo stopped the two children well away from the rotating blades as the copter settled onto the grass, and a moment later the door opened and Roarke got out. The native driving the car jogged up to them, and together they assisted a weak, dazed-looking Helena out and over to the vehicle. There was no mistaking that something was drastically wrong with her.

"Mom!" Jamie screamed frantically. "Mom!" He raced toward his mother, only to be caught by his grandfather.

"Jamie, stop," John said, firmly restraining the boy.

Jamie turned on him, while some twenty yards away, Tattoo and Leslie watched, the former with dread, the latter in bewilderment. "What's going on?" Jamie demanded. "What's happening? What's wrong with Mom?"

John looked exhausted, determined, upset all at once. "Jamie, you should have been told this a long time ago. Your mother—" He came to an abrupt halt while three pairs of eyes watched him, and winced. "This is not easy to say. Your mother is dying."

Jamie gawked at him, shock stiffening his entire body. _"What?_ No!" His knees went out from under him and he sank slowly to the grass. Leslie gaped, her hand drifting to her mouth; Tattoo glanced at her and flinched. So Roarke hadn't told her…

John seemed to have reached the end of his rope. "Don't you understand? That's why Grandma and I want to take you back with us." He struggled for a moment, but his deepest emotions finally got the better of him. "That place in India…I hate it! Work, work, everlasting work…it killed your father, and now your mother!…" Grief overcame him and he half dropped to his own knees. As the words sank in at last, Jamie turned away and lowered his head, closed his eyes against the tears that leaked out anyway.

"It's not fair!" Leslie screamed suddenly from beside Tattoo, startling him and catching the attention of Jamie's grandfather. _"It's not!"_ Tattoo reached out for her, but she twisted violently away and fled toward the palm grove where Chester had so lately escaped, headed who knew where. Actually, Tattoo figured he did know where; Leslie had spent her summer rambling along the many paths that crisscrossed this end of the island, and she'd inevitably found a few favorite spots to retreat to. If he knew her at all, she'd probably head for the most remote spot she could get to. Maybe, he thought, Jamie would benefit from it too. He watched the boy climb unsteadily to his feet and stumble blindly towards him while the car pulled away, carrying Roarke and Helena to the hospital.

"Jamie…follow Leslie," Tattoo advised as the boy came abreast of him. "I'm not sure where she's going, but I think it's a good idea if you can keep an eye on her."

"I…" Jamie choked and nodded. "Yeah…" A sob exploded out of him and he broke into an all-out run, all but flying over the terrain in Leslie's wake.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- November 5, 1979

The remotest place Leslie could find was a rocky crag that overlooked the ocean, accessible ultimately only by a steep footpath that petered out among the jagged protruding rocks along the edge of the escarpment. The path itself could be reached either from the Ring Road or a couple of trails from different parts of the island. It was here that she came to a breathless halt some ten minutes after taking flight, and she collapsed onto one of the higher protrusions, trying to catch her breath, now and then flinging a nearby pebble into the ocean far below. Her head seemed to be dominated by one enormous whirling "WHY?" So it startled her when Jamie caught up with her and planted himself on the next rock over from her, staring morosely out across the sea.

"How'd you find me?" Leslie asked.

"Tattoo told me to follow you," said Jamie, without looking at her.

"Oh," she mumbled, then turned away and went back to throwing stones at the waves. Her furious southpaw hurls eventually caught Jamie's attention and he watched her throw a few more rocks.

"What're you so mad at? It's not your mother who's dying," he said, uncharacteristically snappish. "You don't have to care."

She shot him a glare. "Oh, I'm not allowed to give a damn that somebody else has to lose their mother?" she retorted. Her voice wobbled alarmingly on the last couple of words and she ducked her head, then pivoted away from him, presenting her back.

After a moment Jamie asked, as if not quite willing, "What do you mean, 'somebody else'? You saying you lost your mother too?"

"Just last year," Leslie said low, and dropped her forehead into her hands as the tears welled up again. Was she never going to be able to stop crying?

"You want to talk about it?" Jamie asked.

Leslie sniffed hard to stave off the tears and half turned so that she was facing the water. "My mother's husband, the creep, wasn't anywhere near as good as your dad. He set a house fire that was supposed to kill me, my mother and my two sisters, except somehow I wasn't in the house at the time, and he managed to get killed in his own fire. Your dad was a doctor and wanted to help people. Mine was a jerk who just wanted to hurt them…at least us. That's why I'm here."

"Wow," said Jamie, sounding stunned. "So you do know how it feels. And what a horrible way to die. Gosh, I'm sorry, Leslie."

"Thanks," Leslie mumbled. "I can't believe this is happening. I think your mother's a great person…she's super nice, and I was just starting to get used to the idea of having kind of a whole new family. And then _this_ happens."

"It stinks," Jamie said bitterly. "It just stinks. I thought everything was gonna be all right again, with Mr. Roarke to take care of Mom, and I could go off to school and not have to worry about her. I'm so mad right now…"

"Yeah," mumbled Leslie, and the two fell silent, wrapped in their own individual clouds of gloom. It was there that Roarke found them some fifteen minutes later, having been apprised by Tattoo of what had happened. Guiltily he wished he had found the chance to tell Leslie what was in store, thinking he'd let the excitement of the wedding day allow him to conveniently forget to take her aside…he shook his head. It wouldn't have been the right time. Of course, she wasn't affected in the same way that Jamie was; but he could easily see both children finding solace in commiseration. He climbed up to the topmost perches where they sat; Jamie turned when he heard Roarke's footsteps, though Leslie sat still. Roarke settled on the rock next to Leslie's and wrapped her hand in his.

"Your mother's all right now, Jamie—she's resting. The doctor said just a scare," said Roarke, his tone as relieved as it was reassuring. He reached out and took Jamie's hand as both youngsters focused on him in glum silence. "Jamie, I am so sorry you had to find out the way you did. Your mother wanted to be the one to tell you."

Jamie's frustration finally escaped him. "It's not fair, Mr. Roarke," he protested. "My father spent his whole life helping people. They say he worked himself to death in hospital school. Now Mom. She spent her life helping people too." Roarke looked away, his grip on Leslie's hand tightening, while she watched with tears standing in her eyes. Jamie went on: "And she's happy again, married to you. It's _not fair!"_ He turned and glared despairingly over the landscape behind them.

Roarke drew in a deep breath. "Life is seldom fair, Jamie—both of you know that. If it were, there would be no need for a place like Fantasy Island. Oh, Jamie, I know this will mean very little to you now…but you must know that part of the love I feel for your mother now goes to you too. I know I can never take the place of your father, nor should I; I know you had a very special love for him—a love that shouldn't be shared. But whatever you would have asked of him, you may now ask of me too. I will cherish you as my own son, and like Leslie here, you will always have a home on Fantasy Island." His voice faltered and he paused to regain his composure a bit, while Jamie stared at him wide-eyed and a tear finally fell out of Leslie's eye. "After all, we share something very special, Jamie—the most…wonderful moment I have ever known." Unable to continue, he abruptly drew Jamie into a hug, then tugged Leslie toward him and gathered her into his embrace as well. She buried her face in his shoulder, and Roarke closed his eyes to forestall his own tears, so that it was Jamie who saw her first.

"Mom," he said in surprise.

Roarke and Leslie looked around; sure enough, there stood Helena, watching with a soft smile on her face. She stepped forward then as Roarke and the children broke their huddle, taking Roarke's hand in one of hers, Jamie's in the other. Roarke still held Leslie's hand, and after a moment Jamie caught Leslie's other hand in his and squeezed, as if to say thanks for their earlier conversation. They stood there a little uncertainly for a moment or so, Roarke wondering faintly if Helena really should be up and around, Leslie and Jamie still on the precarious edge of tears, and Helena regarding them all with love.

"This is all the four of us ever need to say," she told them, her smile blooming again, letting her gaze linger a moment on each of their faces before a mischievous twinkle danced in her eyes. "Look, you three, you're supposed to be cheering _me_ up. Let's have some fun!"

Somehow her impish grin proved to be infectious, and before they quite knew it, they all three had started to laugh along with her. "Is there some way to get down to that lovely beach from here?" Helena inquired.

"Indeed there is," Roarke said, glancing at Leslie, who looked disbelieving. "You knew where this spot was and yet failed to notice the trail to the beach?"

"It's a cliff, Mr. Roarke," Leslie protested, "and a high one at that. I figured, in view of that, the only way to get to that beach from here was to jump."

They all burst into laughter. "Luckily for you," Roarke teased her, "there is a less suicidal way to access it. Why don't you just follow me and I'll show you."

Helena, Leslie and Jamie followed Roarke along the path the two children had taken, till about a hundred yards back, Roarke showed them a narrow side trail that had its very unobtrusive beginning behind some wild azalea bushes. It led gently downhill till it came to the edge of the cliff, where it became a series of crude steps, chipped out of the stone centuries before by native islanders. It turned out to be quite a long trip down, and at one point Helena called teasingly, "We don't have to come back up this way, do we?" They all laughed again and Roarke assured her there was no need to do that.

They were all ready to cool their feet in the ocean when they at last gained the sand, and stood for several minutes in a loose group, soaking their feet in the cool waves. Then Jamie saw something and exclaimed, "Hey, a crab!" He and Leslie both trotted over to examine the little creature, scuttling sideways up the sand; then a particularly large wave rolled in, sending both children leaping back out of the way and washing the crab out to the water again. Trying to find it, Jamie ran after it, managing somehow to splash Leslie as he went. She playfully kicked a spray of water after him and caught him in the back, making him yell and start back in her direction. Leslie squealed and took off down the beach with Jamie in hot pursuit.

"Dare we let them get away?" Roarke asked with a grin.

"I should say not!" Helena exclaimed in the same spirit, and with that the adults lit out after their charges. Nobody really ran very fast, because they were all roaring with laughter and a little giddy as a result, but they were having the time of their lives.

Finally worn out, they agreed to return home for a while; Helena and Jamie wanted to gather their belongings together in preparation to move into the main house at any rate. As Leslie settled into a chair on the terrace to clear the last of the sand from between her toes, Roarke followed her out and pulled up another chair beside her. "That sand still bothering you?" he asked.

"I hate sand between my toes," Leslie admitted, glancing up at him, digging out the grains by feel. "I mean, when I'm not on the beach. It feels all gritty."

Roarke chuckled and sat down. "Understandable. Leslie…" He cleared his throat, and she focused fully on him, removing the sand by rote now. "I wanted to apologize to you for the way you learned of Helena's…problem this afternoon."

She stopped moving altogether. "Why? I mean…Jamie had more right to know than I did, and he was pretty mad."

"I don't doubt it, but you did have a right to know," Roarke corrected her, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. "You are part of our household, after all. I truly meant to explain to you earlier, but there was no chance on Saturday; and Sunday, of course, was the wedding. You reveled so much in being a bridesmaid, I decided not to say anything yet." He sighed. "I truly believed there would be ample opportunity after Helena and I had returned from our little honeymoon trip. I never anticipated that she would have that scare."

Leslie's face grew pensive. "What's wrong with her, Mr. Roarke?"

"She has a brain tumor," Roarke said quietly, pain in his eyes. "I told Tattoo Saturday night after you had gone to sleep, but only because he insisted on speaking with me. I don't know how he found out; he must have overheard something, perhaps from Helena's parents. In any case, I explained the particulars to him then. It's my understanding that at some point, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next month, she will simply…fall asleep forever."

Leslie shuddered, visited by a chill, and shook her head hard to dispel it. "Can't they take it out?"

Roarke shook his head in silence, gazed unseeingly into the middle distance at something only his mind's eye could see. They sat quietly, Leslie feeling oddly cold in spite of the tropical warmth of the day, Roarke lost in thought. They might have sat that way all evening, except that the door opened and Helena's voice called out, "Anyone home? We thought you might be as hungry as we are!"

Leslie and Roarke both sat up, and he fielded her wide-eyed, worried regard. "It's all right, Leslie," he said with a little smile. "For now, it's all right." He smoothed her hair, then stood up and called into the study, "By all means, we'll be happy to join you." He offered Leslie a hand; and she took a deep breath, swallowed audibly and cleared her throat, as if building a wall behind which to banish the looming knowledge, before managing a smile at him and accepting it.

§ § § -- November 6, 1979

Roarke had seen to it that Leslie was excused from school for the week, so that she could be with the rest of their little family as much as possible. None of them had any idea how long Helena really had, and he didn't want Leslie to miss out on any of the activities. So she was with them early that afternoon when they all took a leisurely horseback ride and swung by the main house just for kicks. To their surprise, they saw Tattoo standing at the foot of the steps, supervising while Chester loped back and forth with all sorts of artifacts, apparently pilfered loot that he was now returning.

"Hurry up, hurry up," Tattoo ordered the chimp curtly, watching Chester scale the steps and deposit a trumpet onto the pile of stuff already there. "Okay, go get the rest."

Roarke, Helena, Leslie and Jamie looked at one another in astonishment. "Tattoo," Roarke said, "don't tell me you've actually reformed Chester."

Proudly Tattoo said, "I told you I would do it, boss!"

"How did you ever manage to convince him?" Helena asked with amused curiosity.

"Simple! It's called 'fighting fire with fire'," Tattoo said. "I just showed him how he was hurting other people by stealing their belongings."

"How did you manage to do that?" Jamie wanted to know.

Tattoo grinned. "Oh, I took his TV set. And last night he couldn't watch 'The Gong Show'. Drove him crazy!"

Eyes widened all around. "He has a TV set?" blurted Leslie incredulously. At that, snickers broke out, graduating rapidly into full-blown laughter from all of them, including Tattoo. Chester, returning with an armful of stuffed animals, raked them all with a baleful look and clambered up the steps to drop his armload, which merely made their mirth feed on itself…till Leslie spotted something familiar in the heap of odds and ends.

"Hey!" she cried out. "That's my autograph book!" Tattoo jerked to attention, his dark eyes wide with alarm at her indignation, then pawed aside some other things to pick it up and display it at her.

"You mean this?" he asked.

"Yes, that!" It had been one of her birthday gifts that past May and already had a few signatures in it. "How did Chester get into my room?"

Tattoo brought it over to her, looking deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry, Leslie. I don't know how he did it. Don't you have a lock on your door?"

"I shouldn't have to use it," Leslie said darkly, spearing Chester with a fulminating glare. "If I ever thought it was funny that you were trying to cure Chester's kleptomania, Tattoo, I'm sorry. Whatever else you do to him, do it for me too."

Tattoo nodded agreement, but Jamie chuckled. "That might be cruel and unusual punishment," he quipped.

"Not for Chester," said Leslie and Tattoo in precise unison, and Roarke and Helena began to laugh all over again while Jamie shrugged and grinned.

Tattoo joined Jamie and Leslie for a hula lesson late that afternoon, with Helena and Roarke watching, sometimes amused, sometimes just savoring each other. From time to time Roarke would bury his face in her hair, just for a moment, breathing in the sweet floral scent of her, trying to brand the memory in his brain to store for the empty days ahead. That evening the family had dinner at the pond restaurant, ordering odd exotic dishes and trying each other's choices. In fact, at one point, Leslie and Jamie swapped meals, which made the adults break into laughter.

Eventually Helena decided it was time for the children to go to bed, and Leslie took charge, taking Jamie back to the main house, where he had at least temporarily moved into the empty spare room. The newlyweds lingered over their own dinner for a little while, then took a leisurely walk back to the main house, where Roarke put on the stereo in the study, turning the volume low. Catching Helena's hand in his, he brought her onto the terrace, where they slowly danced to the soft native music.

They must have passed at least half an hour like that before Helena suddenly lifted a hand to cover a yawn, and Roarke pulled back. "Oh, Helena, I'm so sorry…was I keeping you awake?" he asked.

She grinned. "Of course you were, but I was enjoying every second, so don't feel guilty about it. Now that you mention it, though, maybe we'd better go on to bed."

In Roarke's elegant bedroom, which they were now sharing, Helena changed quickly into her nightclothes and then went to check on Leslie and Jamie. Satisfied that they were both sound asleep, she settled into bed, mulling over an idea that had been percolating in her mind since she and Roarke had returned from the restaurant. When Roarke joined her there, he studied her with some concern. "Helena, my darling? Is everything all right?"

"Of course, my love," she assured him and smiled, relaxing him. "I was just thinking about something, and as long as we're here alone, it might be a good time to discuss it. Have you thought about adopting Jamie?"

"Adopting him?" echoed Roarke, getting into bed beside her. "Well, I won't say the thought hasn't entered my mind; but I haven't brought it up, primarily because I don't know how Jamie would feel about it. I made it clear earlier on that I wasn't trying to take his father's place, and perhaps if I did adopt him, it would appear that way to him."

"We could always ask Jamie how he would feel about it," Helena said comfortably, then faced him with a serious expression. "But if you did…well, it certainly wouldn't be right to leave Leslie out. I've gone over and over it in my mind, and I thought perhaps she would appreciate it if you and I, together, formally adopted her—made her our daughter instead of merely your ward."

"Oh?" said Roarke, very surprised.

Helena nodded. "We talked a bit on Saturday. I got the distinct impression that she feels…outside the family, meaning you and I and Jamie, since she's 'only your ward', as she put it. The way she said it, it sounded to me as if she considered herself a step or two below the rest of us. The poor girl has no family left, and she still misses her mother terribly. I was trying to think of the best way to make the suggestion to her."

Roarke considered the idea. "It's quite a step," he remarked at length, "and since both Leslie and Jamie are old enough to understand, I think it only right that they should have some say in it. In fact, it seems to me that they might have the right to agree or not, as each one chooses individually." Helena nodded again, her expression thoughtful, and he went on: "We've been married a mere few days, you and I, and it seems to be enough upheaval in their lives for the immediate moment. Perhaps we should allow a little more time before we say anything, don't you think?"

Helena regarded him with a strange look on her face, one of seeming urgency. "I don't want to bring it up, but I don't know how much time…" She let the sentence wither, giving a deep sigh, and Roarke wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"Perhaps so," he said very softly. "Perhaps so. We could tell them tomorrow evening, then, if you like, all right?"

"Tomorrow evening…yes! Over a family dinner on the veranda," Helena said, sounding suddenly delighted. "What a lovely idea!" She beamed at him, evoking a warm smile in return. "That would be the perfect setting—it would make it a special occasion, since of course that's precisely what it would be."

"So it would," Roarke concurred, kissing her.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- November 7, 1979

Wednesday was a leisurely day, after the last three of them filled with one event and occasion after another and a roller coaster of emotional highs and lows. They all slept in that morning, and in fact only the voices of the household staff, some of whom were in the study doing routine weekly cleaning, roused them. Leslie, crawling out of bed, was amazed at the time. She hurriedly got up and put on a pale yellow sundress, running a brush ten or twelve strokes through her hair and then making her bed before poking her head out the doorway and wondering if she should go knock on doors.

Then she heard someone run water in the bathroom sink and grinned. The spare-room door was ajar, so it was probably Jamie. The door to Roarke's room opened then and Helena looked out, winking at Leslie. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" she greeted her.

"Hi, Helena," Leslie said cheerfully. "Is Mr. Roarke up yet? I'm ready for breakfast."

"So am I," Helena agreed, then aimed her teasing voice toward the bathroom door. "Jamie, are you quite finished in there?"

The door popped open and Jamie stuck his head out, playfully rolling his eyes at his mother. "You better tell Mr. Roarke to build another bathroom onto this house."

"Who had better tell me what?" asked Roarke's voice, and the door behind Helena opened fully to reveal Roarke. "I believe I overheard Leslie mention breakfast, and I myself would be very interested in that. And, Jamie, since your mother seems to be in accord with us, that leaves only you."

"I sure hope you've got a good cook," said Jamie with anticipation, setting off chuckles. They all trooped downstairs and had what actually amounted to a brunch, with John and Cecelia Cummings in attendance as well.

Their day was quiet overall, which suited them just fine; early that afternoon, though, they had enough restless energy to get out of the house as a foursome and take a long roundabout stroll around the general vicinity. After awhile they came upon a small pond, and Leslie and Jamie had a few rounds of competing to see who could throw a rock into the water the farthest before Jamie switched to attempts to skip stones. Roarke showed him the kind of flat stone to look for, and for a little while they meandered along the pond's edge, with Jamie occasionally spotting a flat pebble and trying to skim it over the water. His first few attempts met with laughs, but he soon began to get the hang of it. "That's better," Roarke said approvingly the first time the rock skipped a couple of times over the surface. Jamie grinned and scanned the ground for other suitable stones; Leslie, a few paces behind, was on the verge of removing her sandals to walk barefoot in the lush grass.

Then Helena half stumbled and seized Roarke's arm to keep herself from falling, and the adults both stopped. Roarke stopped short and gathered her in closer, supporting her, staring at her with alarm. She tried to smile reassuringly, but there was something in her expression that gave Roarke chills.

"Jamie," Helena said, a little breathily, trying her utmost to sound normal, "why don't you run along and tell Grandma we'll be there in a minute, darling?"

At the sound of her voice Leslie turned and took in hers and Roarke's stance, her eyes going wide. Jamie seemed not to notice anything amiss. "Sure, Mom," he agreed and gave her a kiss before jogging off towards the nearest path back.

"Leslie, why don't you go with him," Roarke suggested with a meaningful look at her. He knew there was no putting anything past her: she was older and had seen her share of death already. So he didn't object when she instead came to Helena and hugged her fiercely for a moment. Helena's smile lingered as she returned the embrace, one-armed.

"It's all right, Leslie," Helena assured her.

The look on Leslie's face said she knew better, but she accepted the fiction. Both Roarke and Helena heard her loud gulp just before she turned and fled after Jamie. Helena smiled mistily after her, then turned to Roarke.

"I didn't want Jamie to…" she began, still half smiling, trying to focus on him but not quite succeeding. Her expression was tinged with an increasing amount of pain.

The chill engulfed Roarke altogether. "Oh, my darling, my darling…" he murmured, as if in protest. He drew her close, held her hard for a moment, a creeping sense of urgency driving him. "I have to get you to the hospital."

"No, no…I don't want this to happen in the hospital," Helena pleaded. Roarke stilled: she must know… "Just take me somewhere beautiful."

Real fear began to snake through him as he stroked her cheek; intellectually, he knew what was coming, though he couldn't bear to admit it even to himself. As much as he hated to give in to the horrible knowledge, he couldn't deny her this. He lifted her up and strode purposefully in the direction of the Ring Road, where a certain path originated. He knew precisely where to take her.

And he did: he carried Helena all the way to Bella Glen, determination lending him extra physical strength. Just at the end of the pathway into the clearing, he looked quizzically at her, and she nodded, smiling at him in that strange, dreamy, half-focused way that had come over her. He carried her into the middle of the clearing and settled down with her, wondering if he would ever be able to return here again. For a long moment they stared at each other—Roarke with dread and fear, along with his ever-present concern for her; Helena in that lingering dream state. "Hold me," she requested, and he lifted her arm from around his neck and gathered her protectively close.

She nestled in just under his chin, as if cuddling up to him for warmth. In reality he found himself dependent on her warmth, and sat staring sightlessly with her in his arms, fighting the foreknowledge, the fear, the grief that was already welling up deep within him. He could feel her breathing, her soft, slow exhalations whispering against the hollow in his throat, as if she were breathing him in somehow. Perhaps, he thought fancifully, she was gathering something of him to take with her on her journey to…wherever. He didn't want to believe that there would be nothing left of her…

"Take care of Jamie," Helena said softly, her voice high, almost uncertain.

She wanted reassurance, he knew. "I will," he promised, anguished. "I will."

Tucked in below her husband's chin, Helena Marsh Roarke opened her eyes for the last time and drank in the palm trees swaying in the wind, the lush greenery, the restless blue ocean, and murmured, "It's so…peaceful."

Above her, Roarke squeezed his eyes closed. His unique inborn sense told him she was fading fast. _No, no, no…_

Helena's sight began to go dark, and she felt a strange pressure bearing down relentlessly somewhere in her head. She knew instinctively that it wouldn't back off this time as it always had before; there was no pain, but the pressure grew and grew, inexorable, unstoppable. She tipped her head back, wanting her last image to be that of the man she loved. He looked scared, she thought with mild surprise, and sought only to reassure him in her last few seconds. "My darling," she breathed, smiling up at him. "I love you…"

Roarke was reduced to a helpless spectator, watching her smile slowly vanish and the light fade from her eyes before they drifted shut. Her head fell against his chest and her body relaxed into a quiet passing—and Roarke swore he felt her spirit leave, brushing against his mind with a ghostly chill before it, too, was gone. His eyes went wide for just one second at the sensation, protesting at its flight…and then he felt nothing, only her limp, still-warm body lying pliant in his arms.

The shock of realization came first, of reality crashing in on him, and then the grief hit with the force of a bullet. Raw, uncontrollable emotion swamped him, and he cradled his wife's now-lifeless body close and began to cry, rocking her slightly. The wind blew on, the unheeding trees swayed, the relentless ocean roared across the sand in the distance, the birds sang around him…life moved along, but it seemed to flow around the grieving, newly widowed man sobbing softly over the woman he had loved so much.

‡ ‡ ‡

Tattoo was in the study checking through the day's mail when Leslie came into the house alone. "You been having fun?" he asked casually, and went on without waiting for her reply. "I talked to Cindy about keeping Chester over at the orphanage with his girlfriend—it sure would save a lot of grief, and since it's on the other side of the island, he wouldn't be able to…" His voice trailed off when he really looked at Leslie and registered her spooked expression. "What's wrong?"

"Helena's tumor was giving her trouble again," Leslie said, looking at him with wide, worried blue eyes. "Tattoo, it really looked serious, and I don't think Jamie picked up on it."

Tattoo dropped the envelopes onto the desk and promptly came around to the chair in which she'd sat, patting her hand in an attempt to reassure. "It could be just another scare, like the one on Monday," he offered hopefully.

Leslie shrugged, but they both knew she didn't believe him. "I hope so," she said.

More than two hours passed, two interminable hours during which Leslie's fear rose higher and higher. Tattoo became increasingly uneasy, though he handled the few phone calls and other business with smooth aplomb in his boss' absence and now and then tried to bolster Leslie's spirits with a smile.

It was approaching five before the door opened and Roarke came in. Leslie and Tattoo turned to watch him step into the study from the foyer, and they both went still at his mien. His expression was fixed, as of one maintaining strict, rigid control over his emotions, and his body seemed just slightly hunched.

"Boss?" Tattoo ventured. His voice startled them all in the quiet room.

Roarke flinched as though someone had slugged him, and Leslie sat up straight. Her movement caught his attention and he stared at her before saying baldly, "Helena is gone."

Leslie's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Tattoo's face went slack with shock. "She…she's…" he began, but ultimately shied away from the word.

"She died about two hours ago," Roarke said woodenly, his gaze leaving Leslie and drifting to some indeterminate point on the wall. "I have just delivered the news to Jamie and Mr. and Mrs. Cummings. They have agreed that the funeral will be tomorrow, and they will leave the island later in the day."

"Oh, boss…" Tattoo said, stunned. "I'm so sorry. What a terrible tragedy."

"Thank you, my friend," murmured Roarke, standing in the middle of the room looking forlorn. Leslie couldn't seem to move, for her part; she stared on, feeling frozen in place, while Tattoo came out from behind the desk and clasped Roarke's hands in sorrowful sympathy. Roarke accepted the contact for a moment, then closed his eyes and gently withdrew his hands from Tattoo's. "I don't mean to push you away, but…"

"I know," Tattoo assured him. "It's okay. I'll leave you alone, but if you need me, you know where I am, and don't waste any time calling me." He waited for Roarke's slight nod before glancing at Leslie, patting her hand one more time and then slowly departing.

Leslie sat there and thought about moving, pictured herself doing so, but couldn't make the transition from imagination to deed. She felt stuck to the chair somehow. While she watched helplessly, Roarke visibly collected himself, straightened to his full height in a curiously self-conscious gesture, and drifted behind the desk, where he sat down in slow motion. Once there, he picked up a letter, then stared at it without reading it, perhaps without quite realizing he even held it.

"Mr. Roarke?" It was the voice of their cook, Mana'olana. "Would you be interested in having…" She stopped, took in the scene and stepped hesitantly into the study. Roarke and Leslie looked absurdly like a still-life, both sitting motionless with shock on their faces. "Oh dear. It's not…Mrs. Roarke, is it?"

"She's dead," Leslie shouted suddenly, in an instant eruption of rage and protest and grief. She slammed her fists on the chair arms, bounced to her feet, blindly seized a heavy bronze paperweight that sat on Roarke's desk and threw it out the French shutters with all her strength. "I hate life! I hate fate, I hate _everything!"_ Shocked and alarmed all at once, Mana'olana reached out, but Leslie ducked away and raced up the stairs; seconds later her bedroom door crashed shut overhead. Mana'olana cautiously shifted a glance at Roarke and went queasy: he just sat there, as if blind and deaf, without reacting one iota to Leslie's outburst. Dazed, the cook shuffled out of the study and back to the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, the phone at the main house went unanswered; Leslie cried herself into an emotionally exhausted sleep, and Roarke went automatically to his own room once it was dark enough, forgetting to close the shutters for the night, unable to think at all. He even forgot to check on Leslie. His own sleep was fitful, and what little slumber he did get was fraught with such vivid dreams of Helena that more than once he woke up fully expecting to find her lying by his side. And each time, when she wasn't there, the grief hit him anew and he cried, over and over again.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- November 8, 1979

The funeral procession was silent; no one spoke at all as the principal mourners made their way to the barge that bore Helena's flower-bedecked coffin. Helena's parents came first, stepping aside, unwilling to go any closer and make their daughter's death even more real than it already was for them. Just behind them came Roarke and Tattoo, with Leslie and Jamie following. These four paused, and Roarke—now composed, but distant—turned to Jamie with the first real warmth he had yet shown to anyone since Helena had died in his arms the day before.

"Jamie, I told you that whatever you would have asked of your father, you may now ask of me," he said, quietly but fervently. Staring at Helena's coffin, he went on: "That I will always cherish you as my own son; that you will always have a home on Fantasy Island." He looked up, at Jamie, then at the boy's grandparents, speaking deliberately to them all. "I wanted to say that again, here…at this time."

Jamie gazed blankly at him; like the others, he had gone numb in the aftermath of the first and most violent bereavement. He said nothing, didn't seem to acknowledge his stepfather in any way; but Roarke knew he'd gotten the message, and was satisfied with that. There would yet be time, if Jamie were willing. Roarke gently ushered him ahead. Leslie, eyes blank, fell in beside Tattoo, who took her hand and then gave her a vaguely alarmed glance when it just lay limply in his.

The four of them boarded and stood behind Helena's coffin, a child on either side of Roarke, Tattoo in front of his boss. The barge moved down the river bearing its somber burden, while mourners gazed on from the shore—many of whom had been guests at the wedding a scant four days before. Roarke put an arm around each child and stared at his wife's coffin in silence.

Hours later, the time came for the Cummingses' departure; Jamie looked resolute, and they could all see he had made a decision. No one spoke much on their way to the clearing where Helena's parents waited for them; and when Roarke, Tattoo, Leslie and Jamie stepped out of the car there, they all seemed to revert to stilted politeness. "I hope you'll come back again," Roarke said.

Cecelia, though, was warm. "Oh, we will," she said, hugging Jamie. "We have a grandson to visit."

"I am not sure he'll be here," Roarke observed.

The Cummingses looked at each other. "Jamie, where are you going?" his grandmother asked.

"I've been thinking about that," Jamie said. "I know what Mom would want, and I'm pretty sure it's what I want too."

"Trinity School, where you can study," his grandfather confirmed, voice hearty. "And when you get a little older, perhaps become a doctor like your father. That's what you've decided, haven't you."

"Yes sir," said Jamie softly.

Cecelia seemed to have known it would come down to this. Tearfully she said, "Jamie, if it seemed we didn't understand or appreciate all the good work your mother and father lived and died for, you're wrong. It's just that…we loved them both so much…and sometimes it's so hard to let go." She began to cry softly.

Jamie winced, closed his eyes, then with an effort pulled himself back together. "I know," he said, his face crumpling as he lost control once more. "Goodbye, Grandma." He submitted to Cecelia's embrace, then bid his grandfather farewell while she came to Roarke and kissed his cheek. They all made their farewells; only Leslie, still locked within herself, held back, able only to mouth the word at them. Helena's parents squeezed her shoulders in understanding, then got into the car that had brought Roarke, Tattoo and the children and were borne off to the plane dock. Then Roarke drew Jamie to his side.

"You'll have to be leaving the island soon too, won't you?" he remarked.

Jamie looked up. "Yes…in a way, I wish I could stay here with you and Tattoo and Leslie forever." He sighed wistfully. "But I can't. There's too many things to be done…too many jobs my mom and dad left unfinished."

Tattoo smiled. "With many more kids like him, the whole world would not have to worry," he said. "Everywhere could be a Fantasy Island." He and Roarke smiled, and Jamie grinned for the first time since his mother's death.

About an hour later he too had departed on the first flight of his very long journey to India, leaving Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie at the plane dock under a mostly overcast sky. The gray day matched their collective mood; with Jamie and his grandparents all gone and Helena's funeral and burial over, it almost seemed as if they had never been there—as if the last few days had been little more than a prolonged, pleasant dream. They said nothing on the return trip to the main house; in fact, the trio seemed to pull apart, as though Jamie, John and Cecelia had been the only thing holding them together till now. Tattoo quietly gathered together all the message slips and errands that needed doing and left the house to get started on them; Roarke seemed shuttered, and Leslie shied away, filled with her own emotions and having no idea how to deal with her guardian's. None of them had any appetite, leaving the kitchen staff very worried about them, and the rest of Thursday slipped away with little interaction among the threesome.

Most of Friday passed the same way, though Roarke did start setting things in motion for the upcoming weekend's fantasies. Leslie hardly dared venture out of her room the whole day; in fact, by that evening, her lack of appetite, her resulting failure to eat, her lingering sadness over Helena, and her uncertainty around Roarke had begun to translate into a physical malaise. She went to bed before dark that evening, but lay wide awake for hours despite her wish to escape into sleep, her stomach cramping and occasional tears leaking from her eyes. Tattoo had given them both a wide berth all day, respecting Roarke's need to gather himself for the looming weekend and having been unable to get much of a rise out of Leslie the one time he tried to talk to her.

Gradually Leslie became aware of an overwhelming thirst. Upset stomach or no, she knew she had to at least have something to drink. A memory crawled out of the back of her brain, of her mother giving her flat ginger ale to help settle her queasy stomach on several occasions when she was little, and she turned her face into the pillow and fought the tears till they subsided at last. This latest emotional battle seemed to leave her all the thirstier, and she finally gave up and got out of bed, noting the time as she did so. It was past ten, which surprised her since she had lain awake and lost in melancholy for nearly four hours by now. No wonder she was so thirsty.

Still leery of her emotionally distant guardian, she padded down the steps barefoot, her head down, watching her feet. But when she reached the bottom of the staircase, the silence in the study got to be too much for her and, in spite of herself, she looked up. There sat Roarke at his desk, elbows resting on its surface, his hands covering his face. The glass-shaded lamp cast thick shadows around the room. Leslie stopped still, watching Roarke warily for at least a full minute; but he never moved.

Something about his pose struck her as vulnerable, as if he had lowered his guard, perhaps in the belief that he was all alone. It got to her, and this, combined with her own intrinsic need for comfort, drove the tentative question from her at last. "Mr. Roarke?"

Startled, Roarke sat up, lowering his hands from his face in a swift surprised motion. The lamp picked out his features in sharp relief, and Leslie gasped aloud when she saw its light reflecting off the tears on his face. Never before had she seen Roarke anything other than strong and composed. His stark pain terrified her, and tears filled her eyes yet again. She stood there staring uncertainly at him, wondering whether to stay or go.

"Did I wake you?" Roarke asked then, his voice heavy with emotion but calm.

Since she'd never been asleep, the idea seemed absurd. "No, I just…" Her throat seemed to catch and she swallowed, tried again. "I was only…" Again her voice trailed off; she was utterly unsure of what to say. Her actual purpose in coming down here seemed silly and mundane now. Guardian and ward regarded each other, he in a waiting silence, she in fluttering uncertainty. At last Leslie asked in a tiny voice, "Should I go?" She thought she should; she had the horrible feeling that she was intruding. Her hand, wrapped around the newel post, twitched, fingers clutching its knob, then lifting away, then settling down again; her body tensed, ready to run back to the safety of her room.

But Roarke gazed at her and slowly shook his head, even as another tear traced a slow trail down his face. That lone teardrop was her undoing: her emotions got the better of her for good this time, and she began to break down right before his eyes, staring back at him with tears raining down her cheeks. And with the sorrow came the anger once more, the mad, flooding rage at the sheer injustice of it all.

"It wasn't fair," she heard herself wail out of the blue, surprising herself as much as Roarke. "You were so happy…we were _all_ so happy…and it _just wasn't fair!"_ The last three words came out as a shriek, ripping through the awful silence in the room. She started to collapse there where she stood, slowly wilting towards the floor as violent sobs racked her body, her plaintive wails of grief echoing around the study and across the terrace.

Roarke immediately arose and crossed the room toward her, himself giving in to a new round of tears. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of emotional release since Helena had died, and Leslie had caught him with his defenses down. Yet, even as he gathered her into his arms and joined in her sobbing, he realized on some level that they needed this. He had been ruthlessly controlling his own grief for the sake of the daily business duties, and she had been tiptoeing around him for two days, locked inside herself, trying to deal with her own sorrow and unable to vent it. Now they gave each other much-needed surcease; Roarke and Leslie clutched each other with all their strength, he crying with almost frightening force, she bawling full-on.

In time they lost the wherewithal to stay on their feet and gradually sank to the floor, while the worst of their anguish spent itself and their overwrought emotions blew themselves out. Feeling incredibly weary, Roarke pulled the remains of his composure around him like a tattered security blanket, taking a strange sort of comfort in simply holding Leslie. She was still crying softly, her whole body trembling uncontrollably, her reserves nearly depleted. Roarke cradled her head in one hand, stroking her hair, resting his head against hers and rocking her a bit.

When Leslie stirred faintly in his embrace, he gently bracketed her face with his hands and set her back from him just enough to look into her swollen, streaming eyes. "Tell me, child, have you eaten lately?" he asked, his voice still a little thick with tears.

"No," she managed. Her nose was completely stopped up and she had to breathe through her mouth; she looked and sounded as if she had a rampaging cold. "I wasn't hungry. I can't eat when I feel like this."

"Oh, Leslie, you've worn yourself out," Roarke said softly. "I understand, child, believe me. But you're eroding your own defenses, and you're already beginning to make yourself sick. Neither of us can go on like this, don't you see? Apart from the effects on our well-being, Helena would be very upset if she could see us this way."

"But you were…" Leslie began.

"I know," he interrupted gently. "And it's time we both stopped. We've spent enough of our energy wading through our grief. I know it will take time before we have adjusted to this latest loss, but we must. I'm sure you've heard all this before, but you should know almost better than anyone else here how true it is that life goes on." He waited for her reluctant nod before smiling faintly and smoothing her hair back. "Whatever the future holds for us, Leslie, rest assured that we'll face it together, you and I. This time, my child, you're not alone."

A watery smile flickered into life on her sodden features, and she hugged him again. "Neither are you, Mr. Roarke," she said with resolve, and for the first time his smile was wide and genuine. He returned her hug and patted her back.

"Now," he suggested, "suppose we go to the kitchen and find something to eat? I refuse to let you go to sleep without something in your stomach, young lady."

Leslie settled back and tilted her head to one side. "Only if you come with me," she said. "If Mana'olana goes ballistic tomorrow because her kitchen got raided, I don't want to be the only one who gets in trouble." And she grinned at him.

Roarke leaned back and roared with laughter, happy to see her join in. "Very well, Leslie Susan," he said mirthfully, rising and pulling her up with him. "Let's go."

§ § § -- June 2, 1999

"Holy cow," Jamie said in amazement, shaking his head. He focused on Leslie, whose eyes seemed a little haunted. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that it all came out like that, since you were so closed up and quiet when I left. You know something? I thought about you all the way to India. I didn't think it was healthy at all for you to just dam it all up inside you. I'm glad you got it all out."

Leslie shrugged. "Oh, I'm an old hand at 'getting it all out' by now," she said, smiling. "But what about you? Were you okay once you got back to Calcutta?"

"Yeah, I managed all right," Jamie said. "It was hard for the first few weeks, but I had to throw myself right into my studies, and after a while they pretty much took over my life. I didn't have much time left to think. It was a few months before I finally let myself really grieve for Mom." He looked at Roarke. "Did she really talk to you about adopting me and Leslie? That just sounds so…so Mom."

Roarke chuckled. "She certainly did," he said, then went still for a moment before turning to Leslie. "Sweetheart, it has only just occurred to me. We both had all intentions of presenting you and Jamie with the adoption idea, but we had no way of knowing that it was already too late for Helena. After her death, we were all so overwhelmed with sorrow that everything else was swept aside, and as it turned out, that conversation never came back to me again till just now when I told you and Jamie about it. Please let me apologize for that, Leslie."

Leslie stared at him in surprise, then laughed. "Well, better late than never, I suppose," she teased him. "It seems kind of silly for you to apologize now anyway, seeing as you did go ahead and adopt me four years later!"

"Perhaps so," agreed Roarke amidst the laughter.

Pavithra's brown eyes had taken on an impish sparkle. "Tell me, Mr. Roarke," she asked playfully, "did you ever find the paperweight that Leslie threw outside?" Grinning, Roarke nodded, and again they all dissolved into mirth.

A momentary lull fell in the conversation, and Leslie drank some sangria before speaking again. "Well, we've done all the talking so far," she remarked cheerfully. "I'd like to know more about you, Pavithra."

Pavithra smiled. "I'm only an ordinary girl," she said.

Jamie rolled his eyes and hooted, "Yeah, right! Don't listen to her, you two. She's just the greatest thing that's happened to me as an adult, that's all. Come on, honey, tell them about yourself, or I'll do it for you."

"Oh, then perhaps I'd better, since I don't know what lies you might tell about me," Pavithra kidded, earning a round of laughter at her unexpected humor. To Roarke and Leslie she said, "Well, I'm the oldest of ten children, and when the youngest was just a few weeks old, my father died. When that happened, we went from poor to destitute, and my mother couldn't take care of us all. So the six oldest of us were sent to Jamie's father's hospital school—there were no more places available after that. The baby stayed with Mother, and the remaining three were sent to relatives around India. We have heard nothing of them since then, but I do know my baby sister, for Mother stayed in touch with us and visited us often. It's my hope that one day I can find the three missing siblings." She drew in a deep breath, then brightened when her regard fell on Jamie. "I met Jamie soon after I arrived. He was already thirteen to my ten, and so self-assured. I admired him at a distance for months. Then one day he came upon me studying in the courtyard, and we started to talk. We were friends from that time on. Then I received a scholarship to Oxford, and Jamie and I went together, since he had completed his studies at Trinity. We stuck close together after we went to England—familiarity in a strange land, you know. Perhaps that's how it began. All I know is, very soon we realized we were in love."

"What a sad but sweet story," said Leslie. "I hope you find your other siblings."

"Thank you," Pavithra said and smiled again.

Jamie leaned forward, setting his teacup on the table. "I don't want to sound like I'm ending the party," he said, "but I think we have a lot of preparations to make for the wedding, and I don't want to wait—any more than you and Mom wanted to wait to get married, Mr. Roarke." He grinned at his stepfather.

Roarke grinned back and observed, "I don't blame you, Jamie. Just give us the ideas you have, and everything will be taken care of."

And so it was that two days later, Jamie Marsh and Pavithra Joshi were married, in a simple, quiet and very private ceremony. Pavithra wore a lovely Indian sari in brilliant brocaded crimson, shot through with gold embroidery that glittered in the summer sun. Roarke performed the ceremony and Leslie, along with Rogan and Julie Callaghan, acted as witness; Julie—three months pregnant—got morning sickness in the middle of it all and had to duck out long enough to handle the problem. Otherwise, the event went off without a hitch, and Roarke invited them to stay for a honeymoon, all expenses on the house.

Pavithra lit up. "Oh, Jamie, how lovely…and we do need time to ourselves…"

Jamie sighed, looking tempted. "I know, and I'd really like to stay too. But the hospital school just never really allows for time off. If we could afford to hire more staff…but we run on donations and government funds, and of course, there's never enough." He made a face and added ruefully, "I'll barely even have time to visit Mom's grave."

Roarke said softly, "Believe me, Jamie, your mother would understand." Jamie focused on him and nodded in reflection; Helena would have been the first to encourage him to follow his conscience.

So that afternoon, Leslie drove Jamie and Pavithra to the little cemetery where their closest loved ones were interred: there were in fact only three graves, Helena's, Tattoo's and Teppo's. Leslie gave the newlyweds a little privacy beside Helena's grave and knelt at Teppo's for a few minutes, then at Tattoo's. It was there that the memory first came back to her, and to her surprise it still had the power to make her flinch inwardly. Absently she removed withered blossoms from the azalea bushes planted on either side of Tattoo's headstone, trying to stuff the unpleasant memories back into the depths of her memory from which they'd sprung.

Jamie crouched next to her. "You okay, sis?" he asked, with a lighthearted upswing on the last word. Leslie grinned.

"Yeah, little brother, I'll be fine. Let me know when you're ready to go back," she said.

"We're ready now," Jamie replied, rising. "We thought we'd try to get a little sleep before we get on the plane tomorrow morning."

Leslie snorted knowingly. "It's four o'clock, you goof," she said, playfully elbowing her stepbrother in the side. "You're not fooling me with that silly excuse."

Pavithra blushed vividly, and Jamie burst out laughing. "I forgot you've been married too," he guffawed. "Okay, okay, just take us back to our bungalow. I still have to carry my wife over the threshold, and the bungalow will do as well as anywhere else."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- June 5, 1999

Leslie was quiet in the pre-dawn after they had seen Jamie and Pavithra off the next morning, and Roarke studied her. "You've been unusually withdrawn, Leslie, ever since you came back from the cemetery yesterday," he noted. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, trying without success to stifle a yawn. They were due to meet their weekend guests in about three hours, and she was hoping to sneak in a little nap before she had to accompany Roarke to the plane dock. "I stopped by Teppo's and Tattoo's graves while we were there," she admitted, "and it was weird, Father. Visiting Tattoo's grave made me think of the weekend right after Helena died, when he tried to grant that fantasy and that awful old woman nearly destroyed your friendship with her lies."

Roarke understood immediately what she was referring to. "It took you a long time to get over that," he recalled.

Leslie shook her head, staring at the ground as they walked along towards the waiting car. "Why are some people so cruel?" she asked. "What makes them so mean-spirited that they have to sow discord and misery everywhere they go?"

Roarke paused and studied her closely, and she stopped automatically beside him. After a moment or two he asked, "Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?"

Leslie looked up, nodded, then suddenly grinned with another memory. "Just how long were we in the kitchen eating that Friday night?"

"More than long enough, I seem to recall," Roarke said, chuckling. "You claimed not to be hungry, but once we were there, your appetite returned with a vengeance."

"I know," said Leslie, giggling. "I'm still amazed to this day that Mana'olana never said anything. Maybe she knew." She yawned again. "I do need to talk about it, but do you think it could wait till this evening, maybe? I thought I'd see if I could eke a little more sleep out of the last couple of hours before we have to get ready for the guests."

"Very well," said Roarke. "If it bothers you that much, then I think it's better that we do discuss it."

And, true to his word, he settled down with her in the TV room upstairs that evening; they made themselves comfortable, and Roarke regarded his daughter curiously. "So what, precisely, was it about that weekend that has you so unsettled now?" he inquired.

"The whole thing, I think," Leslie admitted. "The poison that woman spread, the way Tattoo fell for every word…and worse, the fact that it happened right after Helena died and we were all still feeling so raw. I don't think we ever really talked it out, Father. I remember being utterly unable to tell my friends that first Monday after I went back to school, and they were completely baffled. I couldn't talk about it at all till our New Year's Eve party that year, and even then I could only summarize it."

"I see," said Roarke, absorbing this. "Perhaps in part it was because we never got the opportunity to share our grief over Helena with Tattoo. He had been giving us both some space and a chance to come to grips in private, but when you and I reached our own catharsis that Friday evening, it was much too late to speak with him before we needed to turn our collective attention to the business at hand…"

§ § § -- November 9, 1979

Roarke watched Leslie peel another orange and break a section apart from the rest of the fruit. "I believe that's your fourth orange," he said with a teasing half-smile, "not to mention the three apples, two peaches, four plums and a pear…and at least fifty grapes."

Leslie eyed him, looking a little guilty, then offered him the orange section she held, which made him burst into hearty laughter. "Is that a bribe?" he teased further.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke," she finally protested, giggling despite herself, "you helped me eat all that fruit, so you're not that innocent. I told you I didn't want to be the only one Mana'olana got mad at."

"Quite true," Roarke agreed readily, accepting the proffered orange section. "However, I think we've both had enough, and we should quit while we are ahead. We have to be up early in the morning for the fantasies, remember."

"Yeah, and it's already midnight," Leslie realized, popping another orange section into her mouth. "But I was really hungry."

Roarke shook his head in amusement. "This from the girl who claimed she could never eat again. Why don't you put the rest of that in a container for the night and you can have it with your breakfast tomorrow morning. Neither of us has slept much more than we have eaten, and we're better off remedying that without delay."

The next morning they met Tattoo on the front porch and headed to the plane dock, in what felt to Leslie like a rather surreal execution of normality. After the past week's events, it seemed absurd to be going about everyday matters. After a fugitive witness to a murder had made his way down the gangplank, Roarke turned to the next guest and stared in disbelief at the pretty young blonde stepping out of the plane. "Isn't that Miss Donna Mae Calloway?" he exclaimed, eyes narrowing.

To both his and Leslie's surprise, Tattoo spoke up. "Don't worry, boss, this is gonna be our best fantasy ever!"

Shaking his head, Roarke said, "Tattoo, you must know that her aunt, Ellie Simpson, has requested this fantasy for her twice before, and I turned them down!"

"I know, boss," Tattoo said, "but give her a chance! Don't be mad!"

"Don't be mad!" echoed Roarke, outraged. "When I see that she has also brought that aunt of hers with her?"

"They're very close," offered Tattoo.

"Of that I am well aware," said Roarke, very annoyed. "Aunt Ellie has been preparing her niece for the musical career she was never able to achieve for herself. There have been many years of lessons and practice—guitar, piano, musical composition, voice…"

Tattoo nodded confidently. "That's why her fantasy's gonna be a cinch!"

Roarke rolled his eyes while Leslie watched, dumbfounded; she had never before seen Roarke quite this angry with his assistant. "Oh yes, yes, she merely wishes to be a country-and-western-music _star,"_ he said sardonically. "A cinch." Tattoo nodded, missing the sarcasm completely, and Roarke sighed. "She _is_ lovely to look at. She may even have ability…but what if she doesn't have sufficient talent?"

Tattoo stared at him in shock. "Boss! This is Fantasy Island!" he exclaimed, as if he thought he had to issue a reminder. He smiled. "Leave everything to me."

Roarke stared dubiously at him for a long moment, then composed himself as his drink arrived and he toasted their latest guests. Leslie observed his narrow-eyed, suspicious regard of Ellie Simpson, Tattoo's appreciative scrutiny of Donna Mae Calloway, and the baldly calculating expression on the older woman's face that even she couldn't miss, and began to wonder if they were going to survive this weekend after all.

‡ ‡ ‡

Tattoo was still brightly confident and Roarke very reserved when the threesome pulled up in front of a bungalow and went to knock on the door. From inside they could hear an approaching voice, which cut itself off when the door swung open and Ellie Simpson beheld them. "Oh well, hello, Tattoo, Mr. Roarke, young lady! Won't you please come in?" she invited in a faintly syrupy tone, gesturing toward the interior.

"Thank you, Ms. Simpson," said Roarke, very businesslike, leading the way in. They could see Donna Mae at a table, working on a piece of music.

Ellie was bubbling. "Donna Mae's gonna be so thrilled," she chattered. "She's so excited she can hardly remember her own name."

"That's all right," said Tattoo cheerfully. "I remember her name. Hi, Donna Mae."

Donna Mae, who appeared to be perhaps ten or eleven years older than Leslie, looked up; she had a pretty face with just a touch of innocence about it, framed by frothy pale-gold waves. She brightened at sight of him. "Oh Tattoo…I can't believe I'm really here—and I owe it all to you!" She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a perfect lipstick print that made Leslie's eyes widen with unexpected amusement. Tattoo smiled a little sheepishly, but his dark eyes were sparkling. Donna Mae turned and added, "Oh, and you too, Mr. Roarke. I promise I won't let you down."

Roarke looked confused. "Let us down?" he repeated.

Donna Mae nodded, full of anticipatory energy, and continued in her soft southern accent, "Mm-hmm—my audition with the first and foremost starmaker in country music, Colonel Hank Sutton of Riverboat Records." As she spoke, she arose and crossed the room, moving a guitar to a chair. Roarke stared in disbelief: Tattoo had certainly been busy! Leslie watched in silence.

Ellie chimed in, "An impossible man to see back home." Tattoo smiled again. "I tried to get an appointment for Donna Mae for six months, but I couldn't even get past his receptionist!"

Donna Mae giggled happily and put in, "But Tattoo arranged it just like that! You know, you are purely amazing!" She went over and kissed Tattoo's cheek again, and Leslie found herself looking for a second lip print.

"Yes," Roarke agreed with heavy irony, "he 'purely' is. I was under the impression that Colonel Sutton came to the island to produce a record album in complete solitude. He specifically requested that he not be disturbed." Leslie glanced nervously up at him, more unnerved by the moment at his mien. "But it appears that Tattoo persuaded him to make an exception. That's remarkable."

Roarke's annoyed sarcasm was apparently lost on Tattoo. "Donna Mae," the young Frenchman said, "powder your nose and get your music—the colonel is expecting us."

Donna Mae's mouth dropped open, and Ellie's face lit up. "Oh, so soon?" Donna Mae cried. "I can't believe it!"

"Oh, my!" Ellie fluttered. "Well, we can't go looking like a farmhand. You gentlemen and little lady'll have to excuse us while we get dressed!"

"Certainly, Ms. Simpson," Roarke agreed. He placed a hand between Leslie's shoulder blades and guided her towards the door.

"I'll wait for you outside," Tattoo promised Donna Mae, following them out.

Behind them Ellie's voice trilled, "I can't thank you gentlemen enough!" Roarke shut the door on the two women and descended the steps with Leslie, while Tattoo lingered on the tiny front porch of the bungalow. Roarke's attitude was so forbidding that Leslie dared not open her mouth; but she peered back at Tattoo over her shoulder and recalled his quietly delighted expression each time Donna Mae had kissed his cheek. He often had the same look around the native girls, but there was something personal in it this time around. She wanted to tell Roarke, but one glance at him kept her quiet.

About twenty minutes later, during which no one spoke at all, Ellie and Donna Mae emerged from the bungalow, with Donna Mae toting a guitar and a fat folder presumably containing all her sheet music. They climbed into the second seat of the station wagon, while Roarke drove and Leslie, to her surprise, occupied the passenger seat alone. Tattoo insisted on sitting next to Donna Mae, raising another red flag for her. Roarke noticed it too, Leslie could see, but he didn't mention it; in fact, he didn't speak all the way to the recording studio in town.

Ellie took charge, as Leslie had begun to note she was wont to do, striding out in front of the others and brazenly opening the door of the recording room where a band was playing a lively country tune. Leslie shot Roarke an astounded look; even she knew that a recording session could have been in progress. He read her expression and cracked his first smile since watching Donna Mae and Ellie step off the plane. "It was all right, Leslie," he explained quietly, leaning towards her to keep the words private. "Do you see that red light over the door? If they had actually been recording, it would have been on."

"Oh," Leslie murmured. "But it still seemed kind of…I don't know, forward."

"You have a good instinct, child," Roarke replied, for her ears alone, and she suddenly felt much less stupid. "Ellie Simpson is extremely ambitious—and impatient."

"She's more than that," Leslie guessed, and Roarke smiled again. However, they had no further time to ruminate on Ellie Simpson's character, for the music within the recording room faded abruptly behind the sound of a strident, somewhat high-pitched male voice.

"Hold it, men! 'Pears we have some company!" came the observation, as Ellie pushed right into the room, stepped aside and held out her arm with a flourish for Donna Mae to enter. Tattoo followed in her immediate wake, with Roarke and Leslie bringing up the rear at a slight remove. "Well, Tattoo," said the corpulent owner of the voice, "you sure are punctual! Now then, which of you pretty little ladies is the giant talent you were tellin' me about, hmm?" Colonel Hank Sutton eyed Donna Mae, then Ellie, and then Leslie, at whom he winked to show he was kidding. Leslie grinned foolishly.

Ellie, on the other hand, preened, clearly highly flattered. "Oh no…it's my niece, Donna Mae Calloway. I'm her aunt, Ellie Simpson…and you better believe this child's been making music ever since she was old enough to crawl!"

Leslie, still mulling over Ellie's redundant statement about being her niece's aunt, watched Donna Mae shake her head. "Now Aunt Ellie," the younger woman said, "Colonel Sutton does not need to know my life history." She gave Ellie the guitar case. "His opinion is gonna be formed strictly by what he hears of my music."

Ellie eyed both Donna Mae and the colonel skeptically. "Mm-hmm."

But Colonel Sutton looked approving. "You say it blunt," he remarked, "but you say it right, Miss Calloway. Well, whenever you're ready." As he spoke, Ellie removed the guitar from its case and looped the strap around Donna Mae's neck. "Now, the boys'll be happy to back you up if you like," he added, settling at the piano while the gathered musicians waited patiently, watching.

Donna Mae gathered herself, cleared her throat slightly and glanced across the group, her regard skating nervously over Colonel Sutton. "Well, this here's a little song I wrote just yesterday, and I hope y'all like it." Ellie and Tattoo were beaming with anticipation; Roarke settled his stance, and Leslie stuck close beside her guardian, half prepared to be influenced by his opinion. Donna Mae drew in a breath and began to sing.

She wasn't exceptional; Leslie, in spite of her utter lack of expertise, had to admit she wasn't especially impressed. Donna Mae had a high, clear, somewhat thin voice, a little breathy in delivery and not very strong; and she rarely, if ever, held a note. When she did, there was no vibrato. Leslie glanced furtively around, taking in the reactions of the others; Ellie and Tattoo were clearly enjoying the musical interlude, Tattoo cheerfully tapping his feet, Ellie nodding with proud approval. The musicians seemed appraising at first, then began to get into the spirit and were soon backing Donna Mae. Roarke stood watching dispassionately, his face devoid of all expression.

But it was Colonel Sutton Leslie ultimately concentrated on. The rotund record executive sat with a politely interested look on his fleshy features, without really getting into the music as most of the others were doing. Donna Mae's performance did hold his attention, at any rate; in fact, he actually looked more involved than Roarke did, which surprised Leslie. She began to think that Tattoo might be able to pull off this nearly impossible fantasy after all.

Donna Mae segued smoothly into a second song and began to sing with more enthusiasm; this one was a real toe-tapper, and Ellie started to sway back and forth. Tattoo cast a glance back at Leslie and Roarke; Leslie smiled quickly at him, but Roarke didn't move, and the younger man seemed slightly daunted for a moment before determinedly focusing on Donna Mae's audition once more.

By the third song, Leslie knew this wasn't going to end as well as Tattoo and his two charges were hoping. Colonel Sutton had begun to look bored and a little bothered; Leslie kept expecting him to check his watch. Before Donna Mae had finished singing, he stood up and made a gesture at the musicians; the song died, and everyone tensed with expectation.

Donna Mae's uncertain voice filled the sudden silence. "Well, those are just some of my more recent compositions. But I have a lot more songs that I wrote earlier."

Colonel Sutton leaned on the piano and said, "I enjoyed hearing you, Donna Mae; y'got some real good ideas. But it takes a lotta effort and more than a little luck to put those ideas across." Ellie's features grew increasingly disgruntled, and Donna Mae looked very disappointed. "Now, if you just keep working at it and don't get discouraged, I—"

Outraged, Tattoo broke in, " 'Don't get discouraged'? What about her contract? To be a star, she needs a recording contract!"

Colonel Sutton looked faintly uncomfortable. "Uh, just a mite premature, Tattoo," he said apologetically. "But I'd be more than happy to listen to Donna Mae again, maybe in a year or so—give her a chance to develop her skills."

"A _year?"_ Ellie exploded. "But Colonel—!"

"Oh, Aunt Ellie!" Donna Mae burst out, her voice filled with the very discouragement the colonel had advised against. She pulled the guitar over her head, thrust it at Ellie and escaped the recording room as quickly as she could walk. Ellie shot a fulminating glance at the colonel and ran out after her; Tattoo glared at him, still very angry.

Colonel Sutton sighed. "Take five, boys," he said to the musicians, who put down their instruments and filed quietly out of the room through another door. To Tattoo he said, "I'm sorry, Tattoo, I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. But I don't think she's got it. I didn't wanna say it to her, but…that's how it is."

Roarke touched Leslie's shoulder and nodded toward the door, and she bit her lip and followed him out with relief. Behind them they could hear Tattoo protesting angrily: "I think you are wrong! I think she's fabulous! She's so sweet and so beautiful…" The sounds died out as they moved out of range, and Leslie bit her lip again.

Roarke caught her expression and glanced behind them, sighing gently. "Those words put it all in a nutshell, I am afraid," he said with regret. "Miss Calloway is an attractive girl, and it appears that Tattoo can't see beyond that."

"He thinks she's good, though," Leslie said. "Did you see him when she was singing?"

"He's biased, Leslie," Roarke said. "Unfortunate, but true. If I dare say so, he is besotted with the girl—and that will almost certainly color the outcome of this fantasy."


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- June 5, 1999

Roarke studied his daughter, who had gone silent with the memories. "Don't tell me you still feel guilty," he said presently, knowing as well as she did what had happened after that. Leslie blinked and focused on him.

"It was an accident," she said, though it sounded rehearsed. "That's what you kept telling me, and that's the way I tried to see it myself, but I've never been convinced that Tattoo believed it. And it's too late now to know if he ever really did."

"He never mentioned it again, I know that," Roarke observed. "Since, as you said, it's too late, I submit that the only thing you can do is assume that he did believe it. Did you ever try to talk to him about it?"

Leslie nodded and said, "At least a couple of times. But Ellie did so much damage, and Donna Mae hurt him enough, that he just didn't want to talk about it. And he never did speak of Donna Mae Calloway again, I remember that very well."

Roarke shifted slightly where he sat and leaned forward just a little. "Tell me again what you saw, as much as you can remember now," he prompted.

She sighed. "I don't think I can ever forget it…"

§ § § -- November 10, 1979

Back at the main house, Tattoo went out again to make some rounds, while Roarke gathered together several packages. "Leslie, if you'll do me the favor of taking these to the post office," he said, handing her some cash, "you may keep the change. We'll have lunch when you return, all right?"

"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie agreed, wrapping a rubber band around the thick sheaf of outgoing envelopes and stacking the parcels atop one another before lifting them from the bottom and tucking the topmost one securely under her chin. Roarke, watching her, grinned at the sight, and she said a little defensively, "I don't want to drop anything."

He chuckled. "You'll be fine, child," he said warmly. "Don't feel you need to hurry; I just want to be sure that all of this is sent out today." Something else caught his eye and he swiftly scooped up some smaller white envelopes. "Not to mention the bills," he added dryly, handing them to her, and she giggled.

Leslie took a shortcut path to town, dispatched the mail and packages, and tucked the change into one pocket, thinking she should ask Roarke to help her open a savings account at the local bank. She followed the Ring Road part of the way back, detoured down another path and slowed when it discharged her into a shady clearing where a number of tables were scattered, some with umbrellas, some without. At the nearest one, about fifteen feet away, sat Ellie Simpson and Donna Mae Calloway, sipping at drinks. Donna Mae still looked dejected; Ellie had a determined look about her. The older woman was murmuring to her niece, too low for Leslie to hear. Afraid they would see her and think she was eavesdropping, she ducked back behind a large bush, just as Tattoo entered the clearing from the opposite side.

"Now here he comes," Leslie suddenly heard Ellie say to Donna Mae. "You think pretty and be strong."

Leslie frowned and settled herself, wondering what was happening. She watched Tattoo approach the women's table and smile at them in greeting. Donna Mae said shyly, "Hi, Tattoo."

"Hi," replied Tattoo warmly, pausing beside Donna Mae's chair.

Donna Mae fidgeted with her cup and said, "Um…I'm real sorry I let you down."

"Oh, you couldn't let me down," Tattoo consoled her. "It was my fault."

"No it wasn't," Donna Mae exclaimed. "You were wonderful!" She flicked a glance at Ellie, who looked on in silence, and added, "And, I guess, too nice to realize the real reason why Colonel Sutton didn't like me."

Behind her bush, Leslie's frown became one of perplexity. _The "real" reason?_ she wondered. _I thought he didn't like her singing…_

Tattoo looked confused as well. "I don't understand."

Ellie said smoothly, "Well, it was because Donna Mae wouldn't play ball—if you get my meaning." The last five words carried a suggestive undertone.

Leslie still didn't, but it was clear that after a moment, Tattoo did. "Did he suggest that—" he began incredulously.

In a hesitant voice Donna Mae said, "Well, not in so many words, but…a girl can sense what's on a man's mind." It was then that Leslie realized what she meant, but it merely confused her even more. From all indications, Colonel Sutton's interest in Donna Mae had been strictly professional; he had never even touched her. Had she and Roarke missed something somewhere? She shook her head once and refocused her attention.

Tattoo scowled in disgust. "The dirty bum," he muttered. "The dirty bum!" From where she crouched, Leslie noticed Ellie's satisfied smile. Tattoo looked up and said, "Look, Donna Mae, it's my fault. I didn't deliver your fantasy."

"But you will, Tattoo," Ellie said with a sugary, ingratiating tone that got on Leslie's nerves immediately, like a cat having its fur rubbed the wrong way. "I just know you will! Why, you're so smart, and so clever…and I know you couldn't stand to see Donna Mae's heart broken." Tattoo glanced at Donna Mae and shook his head slightly in agreement. "Why, I just bet you got lots o' tricks up your sleeve!"

For a moment Tattoo looked blank. "I do?" He ruminated for a second or two, then regrouped. "Yeah, I do! Don't worry, Donna Mae, I'll think of something." Leslie's mouth fell open when he lifted Donna Mae's hand and kissed it before leaving. She waited a minute or two longer, enough to see Donna Mae's gloomy expression and Ellie's happy smile as she reached out and patted her niece's hand.

"You did just fine," she said with great satisfaction.

Donna Mae frowned. "Did I?" she muttered.

_Oh, you sure did, lady,_ Leslie thought. Donna Mae looked a bit guilty, but it hadn't prevented her from going right along with whatever miserable scheme her aunt was brewing up. Somehow she had to clue Roarke in on this; Tattoo's more-than-friendly interest in Donna Mae was blatant, and he would be too blinded by his attraction to her to see anything. No, she needed to tell her guardian, and the sooner, the better. Stealthily she backed away from the bush, waited a couple of minutes in order to compose herself, and then crossed the clearing—something she couldn't avoid doing in order to get back to the main house. She managed a casual wave at Ellie and Donna Mae, even though her fondest wish just now was to go over there and knock Ellie out of her chair, and maintained her casual stroll till she had entered another path and was certain she was out of their sight. Then she broke into a run.

Roarke, still at the desk, looked up when she burst into the foyer and clattered down the steps. "What's the hurry?" he asked, amused. "Hungry?"

Leslie shook her head impatiently; lunch was the last thing on her mind at the moment. "No…Mr. Roarke, is Tattoo around?" she asked.

"No, he hasn't returned yet," Roarke said, sensing her urgent mien and giving her his full attention. "Is something wrong?"

Leslie nodded with vigor and came to the desk, planting her hands on it and leaning toward him. "I was coming home from the post office and I saw Donna Mae and her aunt in the clearing," she began, and poured out the entire story. Roarke listened carefully, a slight frown appearing on his features. When she finished, he sat back and reviewed her words carefully, while she perched in a chair, watching him in hope, worry and expectation. The silence lengthened, and she finally asked, "Can you do something, Mr. Roarke?"

Roarke looked up at her. "Not much, Leslie," he said through a soft sigh. "If Tattoo is that determined to get Donna Mae—and her aunt—what they want, it will be impossible to dissuade him. The only real hope is that he eventually sees Ellie Simpson for what she really is. Until then, we can only wait." He saw her despairing look and said kindly, "For what it's worth, I can speak with them, but in the end, Tattoo will have to reach his own conclusions. I am sorry, child, but surely you can see that."

Leslie nodded in reluctant acquiescence. "I guess so."

He smiled. "Good girl. We'd better have some lunch." He arose and ushered her out to the veranda, where Tattoo stood waiting for them. Leslie, startled, suddenly found herself wondering if Tattoo had somehow overheard what she'd told Roarke, and guilt at her own actions swamped her.

"Hi, boss, Leslie," Tattoo said cheerfully. "I was starting to think you weren't coming out." He took his usual chair, and Roarke and Leslie followed suit.

"After the last several days, my friend," Roarke remarked lightly, "I wouldn't dream of missing the meal. Leslie in particular has gone long enough without eating." He grinned at her, but she could manage only a halfhearted smile in response.

"Typical Leslie," Tattoo chuckled. "Quits eating every time she gets down. You're a growing girl, you know—you can't afford to go on crash diets."

Mana'olana, just coming out with a cart, overheard and nodded. "That's one hundred percent true, Mr. Tattoo. Now, Miss Leslie, you'd better make sure you have some of every dish, and you clean your plate—you hear me? No more of this foolish fasting." Leslie turned bright red and meekly nodded in response, making the adults laugh.

Leslie did try, but there was such a rock in her gut that she wound up staring at her plate; and Tattoo noticed. "Leslie Susan…" he scolded.

She looked up, and his round face registered surprise at her supremely guilty look. Roarke paused and took in her expression. "Leslie, are you all right?" he prompted.

Unhappily she glanced back and forth between the two men. "Tattoo, I feel so awful," she blurted at last. "I saw you talking to Donna Mae and her aunt awhile ago. I didn't mean to listen in…but I just…well, I didn't want anyone thinking I was eavesdropping, and then I wound up really doing it." She gazed pleadingly at Tattoo, tears filling her eyes. "I'm really sorry, Tattoo, honest. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Tattoo stared at her, bewildered at first, then frowning. "You knew it was wrong to listen, but you stayed and did it anyway?" he asked finally.

"Tattoo, it was strictly accidental," Roarke interceded.

"That doesn't matter," Tattoo protested, indignant. "She should have left when she realized what was going on." He turned to Leslie, whose tears had overflowed by now. "Shame on you. I hope that teaches you something. You better finish eating," he concluded brusquely and busied himself with his own lunch.

"Tattoo," Roarke admonished, "don't you think you were a little harsh on Leslie?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, boss," Tattoo said stiffly, clearly indicating the subject was closed. He didn't speak again for the rest of the meal; Leslie sat hanging her head, with tears streaming down her face, and Roarke sighed deeply. There was no question in his mind that Ellie Simpson would have gotten quite a charge out of this if she knew about it.

The remainder of lunch was desperately awkward, and Roarke finally told Leslie she was excused, feeling sorry for her. She fled as fast as she could go; Tattoo glanced up for a split second, then returned to his meal. Mana'olana clucked at sight of Leslie's plate when she came back out. "I told that child…" she murmured.

Tattoo slid out of his chair. "Thank you for lunch," he said curtly, tossed a quick excuse at Roarke and departed. Mana'olana stopped and watched him go, then turned to stare at Roarke in puzzlement.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "And why didn't Miss Leslie eat, after I told her to?"

"There are mitigating circumstances, Mana'olana," Roarke said, sighing again. "Don't worry about Leslie right now…although I do appreciate your concern. Thank you for the meal; it was very good." He arose and headed back to the study, thinking hard.

Late that afternoon, around four or so, he made a decision and went to the bungalow where Ellie and Donna Mae were staying, knocking firmly on the door. From inside he could hear Ellie's voice in regular cadence; after a few seconds the door opened and she cut herself off. "Oh, hello, Mr. Roarke. Do come in." She left the door open for him and retreated inside, resuming her counting. Roarke thanked her, stepped in and saw Donna Mae on a mat on the floor, doing exercises in time to Ellie's authoritative chant.

"Miss Calloway," he said, "forgive me for interrupting, but…could we talk a bit?"

Donna Mae relaxed and rolled over on the mat. "Anything to get outta exercising," she said in relief. "Stayin' in shape for show business has got me plumb wore out." Roarke took a chair while she faced him, propping her head up with one hand.

"Yes," Roarke said, "I realize you must expend a great deal of energy to achieve certain goals. I just hope you're not using Tattoo for the same purpose."

Ellie eyed him and inquired coolly, "Are you insinuatin' that Tattoo's infatuated with Donna Mae?"

Roarke returned her gaze readily, his dark eyes growing darker yet with cold anger. He spoke deliberately: "Oh, I think you are already aware of that, Ms. Simpson. And I would have no objection, if I weren't sure that Tattoo is being manipulated."

Donna Mae sat up in shock, her eyes going wide with guilt that he could easily read. Ellie jerked to attention, offended. "How dare you, Mr. Roarke?"

Roarke instantly lost his temper. "How dare _you_ do this to any man, Ms. Simpson?" he snapped, enraged. He rose sharply from the chair and glared at her. "Whether you realize it or not, Tattoo's heart is as large—and as vulnerable—as any man's. And," he added to Donna Mae, "he has the trusting nature of a true innocent. Can you imagine the pain, the hurt he would feel if you have been leading him on?"

Donna Mae flinched in the face of his fury and got up, trying feebly to defend herself. "Mr. Roarke, I—I really do like Tattoo—"

But Ellie stepped in front of her and brushed her aside with one arm, cutting her off and facing Roarke with cool disdain. "If you value your friendship with Tattoo, you'll see to it that we get that record contract with Colonel Sutton."

Roarke studied her in silence for a long, tense moment; his temper was no less active, but now it manifested itself in a frigid smile. "That sounds like a threat, Ms. Simpson."

"Does it, Mr. Roarke?" Ellie asked, her own smile one of triumph. "Does it really?" Again, the moment stretched out; then she seemed to succumb to curiosity. "Tell me, how did you draw this ridiculous conclusion?"

Roarke raised one eyebrow. "A trusted source gave me some pertinent information," he said icily. "If you'll excuse me…" And with that he left the bungalow. Donna Mae, downcast, watched him leave; Ellie patted her arm, secure in her apparent victory.

"A trusted source, he said," she mumbled thoughtfully. "You know, that girl who was with them this morning was in the clearing, just after Tattoo spoke with us."

Donna Mae eyed her. "Aunt Ellie, now, you don't think…"

"Oh, I do think," Ellie said, nodding. "I'm sure that girl must have overheard everything we said, and as soon as she got the chance she ran back and reported to Mr. Roarke. Really, the manners children fail to learn nowadays!" She shook her head. "Look, Donna Mae, I think you'd better have a little nap. Tattoo's arranged for you to perform at the luau this evening, and I want you to be all rested up and in top form."

"All right, Aunt Ellie," Donna Mae murmured, subdued, and shuffled across the room to the bedroom, head hanging. Ellie watched her go till the bedroom door had closed; then she smiled to herself. All she had to do now was wait.

‡ ‡ ‡

Roarke was very surprised when he discovered that Donna Mae Calloway was singing at the luau that night. He and Leslie stayed just long enough to be polite, but when her set shifted towards livelier numbers, he arose, using the crowd of dancing guests as cover for his movements, and made his way towards the side of the raised stage where he had seen Tattoo standing and watching Donna Mae with pride on his face. Leslie trailed behind him, still depressed; she'd been his shadow nearly all afternoon. He had been a little sorry to find that none of her friends were in attendance at the luau; they might have helped drag her out of her blue funk. He rounded the perimeter of the gathering and finally reached the spot where Tattoo stood, clearing his throat. Tattoo turned, his expression shuttering when he recognized his boss. He didn't even look at Leslie, who edged behind Roarke.

"Tattoo, I think perhaps we should talk," Roarke began.

"Sorry, boss, I'm busy," Tattoo said coldly. "If you don't mind…" He made a show of turning his back on them. Ellie Simpson, standing beside him, glanced at Roarke with a small, mean smile, a glint of triumph in her eyes.

"Mr. Roarke, please," Leslie begged from behind him, sounding tortured.

He sighed, unwilling to prolong the situation any further. "Very well, Leslie," he said quietly and led her away. Once they'd reached the main house, he sent her to bed and tried to lose himself in mundane chores, but his concentration remained off; and he was forced at last to concede defeat and retire for the night himself.

Halfway up the stairs he knew Leslie wasn't asleep; he could hear heartbroken sobs from her bedroom. Automatically he detoured through her doorway, and without a word, he settled on the edge of her bed and gathered the weeping girl into his embrace. Not till she had cried herself to sleep did he ease her back onto her pillow, draw the covers over her and douse the light, retreating to his own room with a sense of foreboding.


	9. Chapter 9

§ § § -- November 11, 1979

Roarke couldn't blame Mana'olana for her hopeful look when she appeared on the porch the next morning with her cart. However, neither Tattoo nor Leslie was anywhere in evidence, and she visibly sagged. "Miss Leslie won't be down?" she asked.

Roarke shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said. "I apologize…"

The cook shook her head. "She'll starve herself," she said mournfully, doling out breakfast. "That child…she takes everything far too seriously."

"There has been a great deal of upheaval in the last week," Roarke reminded her, "and she isn't the only one who has found it too much to deal with." He let his gaze stray out over the duck pond for a moment or two. "Try to have patience with her. I wish I had better counsel for you than that, but she is a teenager, and I have little experience with them." He smiled self-deprecatingly, and Mana'olana had to laugh.

"I must admit, sir, you're joining a very old club," she remarked. "Well, let me know if you need anything else." Roarke nodded and she wheeled her cart away.

After breakfast he went upstairs and checked on Leslie, who still slept. By now it was almost nine and he decided she'd had enough sleep. Bending to speak into her ear, he said, "Leslie, child, it's time for you to get up."

She blinked awake and gave him a blank, sleepy stare. Then, too quickly, he saw the rush of returning memory in her expression. "I don't want to wake up," she muttered.

"I know you don't," he said sympathetically. "Do you truly believe you are the only one who feels this way? It's been a very difficult few days for us all; but like the rest of us, you will have to deal with it. You can't hide away from the world, Leslie."

"Well, I wish I could," she said spiritlessly, her gaze drifting away from him. "Everything's going wrong, Mr. Roarke. Just everything."

He regarded her, wondering what to say to that, then had an idea for another tack to try. He reached out and gently turned her head so that she had to look at him. "I am facing this as well, Leslie. Is it your intention to leave me to deal with it alone?"

She frowned ever so slightly, processing that; then her eyes widened, and she sat up, hope in her face for the first time. "Maybe we can face it together."

He smiled broadly. "That's my girl," he said. "Come on, now, I need your help downstairs." He patted her shoulder, then arose and left the room so she could get dressed.

They spent half an hour or so clearing away mundane tasks, but Tattoo didn't appear as he normally did, and Roarke finally shook his head. "Enough is enough," he said. "Come along, Leslie, I think we'd better try to find him."

It took them the better part of three hours, and when they finally did spot him, it was in an unlikely spot: a beachside clearing with a broad view of the ocean, its focal point a white backless bench set between two towering palms. Smack in the middle of the bench sat Tattoo, facing the sea. Roarke and Leslie paused for a moment; she thought she heard him sigh, something they had both been doing far too much of lately, before he guided her along the grass towards Tattoo. Butterflies came to life in Leslie's gut and she swallowed repeatedly, feeling faint stirrings of nausea kicked up by her extreme nervousness.

"Tattoo," Roarke said when they were within earshot. "We've been looking all over for you."

Tattoo remained seated. "What do you want to take away from me now?" he asked coldly, without bothering to look back. Leslie went stiff with shock beside Roarke, who stared at his assistant in bewilderment.

"Take away from…" he began, then gave up. "I don't understand."

"Me and Donna Mae," Tattoo said, giving Roarke a frigid, narrow-eyed look over one shoulder. He didn't seem to even see Leslie. "You tried to break us up. Why did you do that? I trusted you!"

Roarke, too, stiffened. "Tattoo, I did no such thing," he said flatly.

But it was as if he hadn't spoken. "I can understand you looking out for me," Tattoo said. "But making a pass at her?"

Both Roarke and Leslie gaped at him, and finally Roarke managed to speak. "She told you I did that?" he murmured. Tattoo merely turned away, and when Roarke spoke again, he sounded dispirited. "Well, the fact that she would say it doesn't bother me nearly as much as the thought that you would believe it." They waited, but he didn't move, and at last Roarke coaxed, "Look at me." No response. "Tattoo, look at me."

Finally Tattoo turned and regarded Roarke with an icy glare. Beside her guardian, Leslie shivered, as though it were tangible. _"Do_ you believe it?" Roarke asked, his voice soft and deliberate.

Time seemed to stop, while Tattoo considered the question and they waited for his response. After what felt like forever, Tattoo slowly shook his head, and the ghost of a smile flitted across Roarke's face, so quickly that it might have been an illusion.

Then Tattoo said, "Boss, I love her. I think the best thing I can do is go work for her, and leave Fantasy Island."

"Oh, Tattoo," Roarke breathed.

Tattoo got up, meandered a few feet away, then turned and regarded Roarke with a bleak look. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me, boss, but…" He hesitated, then looked away. "After I messed up all this, I think it's better I resign." He brushed past them and headed back across the greensward while Roarke stared helplessly after him; the whole time, he had never so much as acknowledged Leslie's presence. And it was too much for her.

"Get out! _Get out!"_ she screamed after him and stumbled away from Roarke, blinded by tears, blundering along till she collided with the closest palm tree. Roarke turned at the sound and saw her bounce off the trunk, then fall to the ground and lie there without moving. He pulled her up and into his arms, staring after the retreating small figure in the white suit, no longer able to fathom it. He almost wanted to join Leslie in her soundless sobbing; she quaked in his arms but didn't so much as squeak.

"Oh, Tattoo," he whispered again. Their world was falling apart, and he had no idea how to stop it.

‡ ‡ ‡

By mid-afternoon, when Roarke had managed to gather enough emotional strength to face Donna Mae and Ellie, Leslie had retreated into a semi-catatonic state, which Roarke knew to be her mind's attempt to shield her from any more emotional blows. Too much had happened in too short a time; even he himself felt a little dazed by the sensory overload. There was a deadly calm within him when he instructed Leslie to remain behind and take any phone messages, then left the main house for the recording studio in Amberville.

Inside, he heard Donna Mae singing something in the same recording room where she had auditioned for Colonel Sutton, and silently stepped inside, watching. Ellie was sitting nearby with a serene little smile on her face, looking on with pride while her niece sang happily. Then Donna Mae turned, spotted Roarke and stopped singing and playing. Ellie looked around and arose at sight of him.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Roarke," she said, regarding him with the sense of triumph that had clung to her ever since their altercation the previous afternoon. "Did you decide to intercede with Colonel Sutton?"

But Roarke barely glanced at her, crossing the room to confront Donna Mae. "Miss Calloway, I spoke to Tattoo," he said. "He's going to leave Fantasy Island."

Donna Mae's face went slack with dismay. "Oh no…Mr. Roarke, I'm so sorry." Roarke merely gave her a chilly nod of acknowledgement.

Ellie strolled over to join them. "Now you attend to our recording contract," she said, deceptively amiable, "and I'll see to it that Donna Mae gets your little friend back."

Roarke acted as though Ellie weren't in the room. "Is that how you want to build your future, Miss Calloway?" he asked, removing the guitar from Donna Mae's suddenly limp hands and resting it on the piano bench. "Can any amount of success ever compensate for a foundation of trickery and heartless deceit?"

"Pay him no mind, Donna Mae," Ellie instructed her niece. "He just doesn't want to admit defeat!"

At this Roarke turned to her, still armed with the calm born of numbed-out emotions. "And you, Ms. Simpson—can't you see how your hopes for your niece have become as warped and bitter as your own life? Do you truly want this child you raised to relive the unhappiness you've known, to avenge you for the fame and fortune you never experienced?"

"I don't want her to be a nobody!" Ellie flung at him. "I never knew how to fight for the things I wanted, but I know now. And I'm gonna fight for Donna Mae!"

"And then what?" countered Roarke. "Who will be there to share her triumphs—and more importantly, who will be there to comfort her when things turn out badly?"

"I'll be there!" Ellie said indignantly. "I've worked just as hard as she has, and—"

"_No!"_ This came unexpectedly from Donna Mae, and they both focused on her; she looked scared but determined.

Ellie seemed stunned. "What'd you say, child?"

"I said no, Aunt Ellie, I can't go through with it," the girl announced.

"Why, of course you can," her aunt contradicted, a little desperately. "You mustn't let Mr. Roarke intimidate you!"

Donna Mae shook her head impatiently. "Don't you see, we were both wrong! Both of us! I know I should've said something sooner, but I didn't want to hurt you…and instead, I hurt Tattoo. I have to speak to him!"

"I forbid it," Ellie snapped.

Donna Mae actually glared at her. "There's no way you're gonna stop me," she said, voice low and grim.

"Now Donna Mae—" Ellie began.

But Donna Mae had reached her limit. "Just…just butt out, Aunt Ellie! You've done all the damage you're gonna do!"

Ellie stared, looking hurt, yet clearly unable to see beyond her own desires. "Well," she finally said. "That's all the thanks I get…" She whipped around and stalked out, grabbing up her purse on the way. A moment later they heard the outer door slam.

"I hope you will be able to reach Tattoo with the truth, Miss Calloway," Roarke said quietly. "He's been quite defenseless, you know."

"I'll make him understand, Mr. Roarke," Donna Mae promised. "He's such a warm and understanding person." Roarke nodded faintly. "And I hated lying to him, seeing the trust and affection in his eyes. I just hope that someday he'll be able to forgive me."

"I'll think about it, Donna Mae." Startled, both Roarke and Donna Mae turned to stare at the loudspeaker from which the gravelly French accent had emanated, then focused on the window to the control booth. There sat Tattoo, a hard expression on his round face, watching them. "But first of all, I think you owe an apology to the boss." He waited, but neither of them spoke, still astonished to see him there. "Come on, apologize."

Finally Roarke found his voice. "Tattoo, how much of our conversation did you hear in there?" he asked.

"All of it," Tattoo replied shortly.

"And how did you manage to get into the control booth?" Roarke queried.

Tattoo said, "I was looking for Donna Mae, and I came in by the back door." He picked up a guitar and came to join them in the recording room, a regretful gleam in his dark eyes. "Boss, I want to apologize too, for not trusting you—and I guess I'll have to make things right with Leslie, too."

Roarke settled into a chair and grasped Tattoo's hand. "Apologies accepted…and I think Leslie will do the same. You had me very worried, my friend."

Tattoo smiled. "Everything is fine now," he assured his boss.

"Are you certain?" asked Roarke in concern.

"Very certain," Tattoo said, scrutinizing a very hopeful-looking Donna Mae.

Roarke relaxed at last. "Good." From the other side of the room, Hank Sutton's band filed in and settled into their seats, at a signal from Tattoo.

"Enough of this seriousness," he said. "Why don't we play some music?" And Roarke sat and listened to his best friend singing with Donna Mae, grinning broadly, feeling new hope for the first time. All that was left was to reassure Leslie, and he could only hope they would be in time; he was afraid she could take no more, and wanted to bring her back from the brink of sheer despair toward which she'd been careening.

The song ended and everyone applauded, Roarke chuckling; the last line had been changed from Donna Mae's original to Tattoo's improvised, "And he can make your fantasies come true," in reference to Roarke. He arose, shook hands with the musicians, smiled at Donna Mae in gratitude, and then turned to Tattoo as the latter man set his guitar down on the piano bench beside Donna Mae's.

"Shall we, my friend?" he prompted.

"Tattoo…" Donna Mae broke in, looking anxious. "It's our fault that everything went so wrong. When you talk to Leslie, please, tell her I'm sorry too."

"We will," Tattoo said with a small, reserved smile. "Don't worry." He turned and accompanied his boss out of the room, aware somehow of Donna Mae's sad eyes on him the whole way.

Tattoo was silent most of the way back; but when Roarke turned the corner into the Main House Lane, he heaved a sigh. "I've really been terrible to Leslie," he admitted heavily. "How's she doing, boss?"

"She hasn't taken it well at all," Roarke told him frankly. "With all this coming as it has so soon after Helena's death, she's absorbed far more than she can handle. Mana'olana is terrified that she'll starve herself into the grave, and at the moment she seems to have shut out everyone and everything. It appears to be a mental self-defense mechanism."

Tattoo winced. "I hope I can get through to her," he mumbled.

Roarke parked beside the fountain and preceded Tattoo into the house; the study was empty, and he frowned with concern. "I left her at the desk," he said, half to himself.

"You don't think she ran away," Tattoo said questioningly.

Roarke quirked a half-smile. "She couldn't go far," he remarked, and Tattoo grinned a little reluctantly. "I'll see if she's in her room—why don't you ask Mana'olana if she has seen her." Tattoo nodded and strode briskly to the kitchen; Roarke went upstairs and looked into Leslie's room, which was also deserted. That, he decided, probably meant she had gone to one of her favorite little retreats; it was just a matter of finding out which one.

"Mana'olana didn't even know Leslie left," Tattoo reported when Roarke returned downstairs. "She must have gone to one of her thinking spots."

"That was also my conclusion, my friend," Roarke concurred. "I think we'll find her more quickly if we split up. You take your car and I'll go in the rover."


	10. Chapter 10

§ § § -- November 11, 1979

It was Roarke who ultimately found her, and he was unwillingly impressed when he did: she had made it all the way to the area where the Enclave was, down past its private marina and to a stretch of coastline where the beach was all but nonexistent. Here there were several sheer cliffs, with a cave or two accessible from the shoreline. Fortunately, Leslie hadn't hidden in one of them; she stood in plain sight, a small forlorn figure, waist-deep in the ocean. Even as Roarke brought the rover to a halt near the clifftop, he saw her move a little farther into the water, and his eyes grew wide with alarm. The tide was coming in, and sometimes there were undertows in this area.

Killing the engine, he scrambled out and drew in a deep breath, mustering up all the volume he possibly could. _"Leslie!"_ he roared, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the surf. But it was a lost cause, and he knew the only way he could reach her was to get down there. This necessitated taking a steep trail down a somewhat less vertical section of land and a rather long circular walk to where Leslie was now.

_Well,_ he thought with black humor, _I suppose I'll simply have to ruin this suit, since apparently she doesn't have the sense to come out of the water on my mere say-so._ He pulled off the suit jacket and dropped it into the driver's seat, removed the vest and tie and let them fall atop the jacket, and shot one more glance at Leslie before tackling the trail.

To his great relief, she hadn't gone any farther into the sea when he at last emerged from the trail's end onto the narrow strip of wet sand. He paused long enough to remove his shoes and socks, leaving them at the mouth of the trail and then breaking into a run, once more shouting Leslie's name. This time she heard him and turned to stare.

"Come back!" he called out frantically. "The tide is coming in, and you may drown!"

He knew she heard; they were close enough that even the surf couldn't cover up his voice. So it had to be deliberate, he thought with a surge of real fear, when she turned back around and struck out for still deeper water.

"Boss!" he heard faintly from far above, in a lull between the splashes of waves on sand, and twisted around to see Tattoo at the top of the cliff, waving madly. Roarke cranked his entire arm in an urgent _get down here!_ gesture and plunged into the rolling waves after Leslie.

She wasn't moving with any particular determination, just wandering wherever the urge seemed to take her. So he caught up with her easily, grasped her around the waist and grimly pulled her along behind him back to the shore. She didn't resist, but when they got out of the water, she stopped moving and stood with her head hanging.

"Leslie Susan Hamilton, look at me," Roarke ordered, reaching out and forcibly lifting her head back when she didn't respond. "What was the meaning of that? If you dare tell me you were trying to commit suicide, of all the insane things…"

"Who cares?" she mumbled dully.

An unexpected rage filled Roarke and he yanked her around to face him, gripping her upper arms with fists like vises. "How dare you ask such a question?" he snapped furiously, making her blink with shock and gawk at him. "We care, young lady, both Tattoo and I, and don't you ever again suggest that we don't!"

"That's a lie," Leslie suddenly shouted, struggling in his grip. "You might care, but Tattoo doesn't. He wouldn't even notice if I was gone."

"Do you really believe that?" demanded Tattoo's voice, flooding Roarke with gratitude at his best friend's arrival. "You want to look me in the eye and say that?"

Oddly, to Roarke, it was a relief when Leslie turned her fury on Tattoo: it meant that she had snapped out of her half-dazed state. "Prove it," she screamed. "You wanted to leave Fantasy Island, and you made those horrible accusations to Mr. Roarke…and it's like I was invisible. You don't care about me at all—I think you'd be a lot happier if I was dead!"

"Don't you ever say that again," Tattoo roared back at her. "You think you've got a corner on misery, Leslie Hamilton? You better stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about what you just did. The tides here are unpredictable, and you could've been swept right out to sea. What do you think the boss would've done if he hadn't been able to get you out of there? It would've made him crazy! And even if you don't believe me, you can take it right from the horse's mouth—I'd have gone crazy too! You understand me?" As he yelled at the stunned girl, he advanced on her till he was right at her side, fists clenched, as though he might brandish one any moment. Roarke watched, almost as amazed as Leslie; he'd never seen Tattoo lose his temper to this extent.

As for Leslie, there was torment on her face; she wanted to believe, but was afraid to. "What about Donna Mae?" she demanded belligerently. "I thought you were in love with her…you were all set to follow her off the island. Doesn't she still have you on a leash?"

Tattoo seemed to wilt where he stood and backed away a step or two. "It's all over," he said tiredly, shaking his head. "I finally found out what was really going on just a little while ago. She was just doing what her Aunt Ellie told her to do, and Aunt Ellie's one mean, bitter old woman. Donna Mae finally told her off, and I think she's going out on her own now." He looked at Leslie once more. "Does that answer your question?"

Leslie stood silent, absorbing his words, breathing a little hard from leftover anger and adrenaline. "Is it true, Mr. Roarke?" she asked at last, looking up at her guardian.

Roarke nodded. "Yes, Leslie, I was there. She told me herself, and Tattoo overheard."

The men waited tensely, watching the play of emotions across her face as she worked through what she had heard; then she exploded again. "How could you ever believe that horrible old woman? How? _How?"_ The final word was punctuated by a hard stomp that left a deep footprint in the sand. "You hated me, didn't you?"

"I never hated you, Leslie," Tattoo protested, wounded. "I was just mad at you."

"No, you hated me," Leslie insisted, her anger beginning to shift to despair. "If you were just mad at me, you'd never have acted like I wasn't even here. You hated me, Tattoo, and all because that nasty old bag told you to! How could you do that? How could you think Mr. Roarke would do disgusting things like that? Why?"

Roarke's grip on her loosened and he drew her into his embrace. "Shh, child," he said, trying to soothe her. "Give him a chance."

Tattoo seemed to droop where he stood; he looked worn out. "Sometimes, Leslie," he said slowly, his eyes unfocused and glassy with tears, "when you think you're in love, you'll do anything to keep that love—even when something inside you insists it's wrong."

She went limp against Roarke, who was stroking her hair. "I hope I never fall in love," she said, her voice partly muffled against his shirt, "not if it's like that."

"It's not," Roarke said gently. "When it's real, it's not. Tattoo's feelings were true, but Miss Calloway's weren't; if they had been, she would never have let her aunt lead her on as she did. Do you think the love between Helena and me was like that?"

After a long pause, they both heard a barely audible "No…" in a voice that dissolved at last into tears. They seemed to cut Tattoo to the quick, and he turned away, though Roarke saw him wiping away his own tears. A lump slowly arose in Roarke's throat as he let his gaze drift seaward, out to the horizon where graying cumulus piled up, outlined in gold by the setting sun.

Then Leslie pulled loose from him and turned to Tattoo. "I didn't mean to listen," she wailed desperately, wilting to her knees now that Roarke wasn't supporting her. "I swear it, Tattoo, I didn't mean to. I knew she was going to hurt you and I didn't want her to do it, and if I could've stopped her any other way…" A couple of sobs burst out of her. "Please, Tattoo, don't hate me anymore!"

Tattoo whirled sharply around and caught her in a hard hug, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. "Stop it, Leslie, stop it now. I don't hate you, _chérie_, and I never did, I promise you. We're not gonna talk about it anymore, you understand? It's over, it's done. We're going to put it behind us and go on from here. It's all right, okay? It's all right." His voice thickened and went silent, and he clung to the sobbing girl, fighting madly to control his own burgeoning emotions. Roarke watched as he clutched a fistful of her hair and squeezed Leslie harder still; then he dropped to his own knees and placed an arm across each one's shoulders, bowing his head. For a very long time they sat there while the tide worked its way far enough in that eventually the waves began to wash across their legs.

Somehow, when they became aware of the water seeping in around them, Leslie had ended up cradled in one of Roarke's arms, while Tattoo stood at her other side holding her hand and waiting out her misery. The two men looked at each other, Tattoo sorrowful, Roarke sad but understanding. Leslie had finally fallen silent and was trying to catch her breath once more. Sunset was long gone, and the sky overhead filled with stars; a faint flash at Roarke's left drew his attention back out to sea and he realized the clouds had developed into a thunderstorm. Fortunately it was too far out for the thunder to be heard.

"I think it's time we got home," he said gently, patting Tattoo's shoulder and giving Leslie a quick squeeze. "It's been a very long day, and if we don't leave and get some rest, we may find ourselves caught in that offshore storm." He smiled when Leslie looked up.

"I'm so tired," she said in a tattered voice. "Tired all over."

"You've exhausted yourself emotionally and physically," Roarke told her. "I think we all have. My friend, do you feel up to driving? Our young lady here led us quite the merry chase, and it's a fair distance back."

"I'll be fine, boss," Tattoo assured him, nodding. "The only thing that matters is that we found Leslie safe. I'll just follow you home."

"I'm sorry, Tattoo," Leslie said again, as if repeating a mantra.

"I told you, we're not talking about it anymore," Tattoo said, gently but firmly, giving her a game smile. "We're starting with a clean slate, so I want you to stop apologizing." He waited till she nodded, then turned the smile on Roarke. "Let's go home, boss."

§ § § -- June 5, 1999

Leslie sat with her hands folded in her lap, fingers tightly interlaced and her eyes glistening with new tears. Roarke reached out and pulled her hands loose, wrapping one of them in both of his. "Don't tell me you still feel guilty," he said.

She looked up. "The feeling never really went away, I suppose," she admitted. "Tattoo kept talking about a clean slate, but it didn't seem clean to me, as long as that issue was hanging over our heads."

"I believe that in time he forgot about it entirely," Roarke said and smiled at her. "My advice to you, sweetheart, is that you do the same. He never brought it up again, as you said, and you were always close after that. I think you're making far too much out of one incident. It stands out in your memory only because it was such an intensely emotional weekend, and has thus taken on far more importance to you than it deserves."

"I guess that's true," Leslie murmured with surprised realization. "We were really overwrought…and being a teenager, well…I carried on like it was the end of the world. In some ways it almost was." She met his gaze. "And you're right, once we got past all that, it was as if nothing had ever happened."

Roarke was silent for a few minutes, thinking back on the scene they had just relived, then remarked, "I had begun to think someone, somewhere, might have been trying to tell me something. First Helena's passing; then Tattoo's near-desertion; and then you, with what appeared to be an attempt to do yourself in. Through the week after that, I seriously considered sending you to a professional, to try to get to the bottom of it." Leslie's eyes grew wide, then skipped away from his, her face reddening.

"I think it was about the lowest point in my life then," she said, very slowly. "With my sisters and Mom gone, nobody alive on earth who was related to me, and then the loss of half a new family before it had much of a chance to get started…it was hard enough. Then Tattoo nearly walked out on us, and I just couldn't take any more." She cleared her throat. "I didn't exactly mean to commit suicide. If that had been my intention, you and Tattoo would never have found me. I was standing in the water trying to decide what I wanted to do next, and then I heard you calling me. I had the sense then that if I came out, I'd have to face it all again, and I didn't think I was up to it…so I started moving farther out, although it didn't really cross my mind to think I was eventually going to get in too deep. Something in me was relieved when you came out and dragged me back. I just couldn't pull together enough willpower to do it on my own."

"You always had that inner strength," Roarke reminded her.

"I guess I did," Leslie agreed sheepishly. "I didn't recognize it for what it was for the longest time. I've come to think of it as this little spark of defiance, as if I'm telling the world, do what you will to me—I have my friends and my family, and I can beat it."

Roarke nodded, smiling broadly. "You've learned at last what I've hoped all these years I would manage to teach you," he said. "As long as you have that little spark, you'll be able to face anything. Don't feel as if you're slow to comprehend it; I too spent many years realizing the same thing." He settled back. "There are times when I've thought fate meant to put us together: I with my unusual life and livelihood, with all the losses I have endured across the years; and you, with your tragic circumstances and more than your share of losses as well. We are both survivors, Leslie, and perhaps that's one of the strongest links that comprises the family ties between us."

She smiled back. "You know, I've been your daughter longer than I was my mother's?" she remarked. "I'll always miss Mom, but you're my family, and I wouldn't trade that for anything else on earth."

"Neither would I, my child," Roarke agreed, returning her hug. "Neither would I."

THE END 

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_Credits: As mentioned in the previous story, Samantha Eggar portrayed Helena, and Jamie was played by Paul John Balson. Helena's parents (to whom I gave first names for clarity's sake) were played by Joseph Cotten and Laraine Day. "Tattoo's Romance" starred Audrey Landers as Donna Mae Calloway, Carolyn Jones as Aunt Ellie Simpson, and Richard Paul as Colonel Hank Sutton._


End file.
